


From your heart's fire

by Caranraw Greyhame (Atrus)



Series: Beneath the same skies [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Post-Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood, Roegadyn Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Stealth Crossover, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 67,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27532192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atrus/pseuds/Caranraw%20Greyhame
Summary: While on a trip to Kugane, Hien and Caranraw meet a reluctant Sekiseigumi and decide to help him become a true samurai
Relationships: Hien Rijin/Warrior of Light
Series: Beneath the same skies [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800427
Comments: 20
Kudos: 10





	1. In which Caranraw spars and then takes on a journey

**Author's Note:**

> This story had a few false starts so it took a little more than I anticipated to get it truly running. It begins shortly after [Rising Sun, Waning Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26162527) and builds up on the relationship between Lord Hien and my Roegadyn WoL Caranraw Greyhame, so go give that one a read if you're so inclined.

It has been a few weeks since our return trips to Doma and Ala Mhigo. A few weeks since the death of Yotsuyu, Alphinaud’s departure to the Imperial capital, and the discovery that Zenos - or a lookalike, or an Ascian puppeteering his body - is alive and planning against us. A few weeks since I’ve last seen Hien.

I kept myself busy, as usual, trying to push the thought of him out of my mind. After reporting back to the Rising Stones, I made my way back to Gridania, where a huge backlog of work awaited me from all sides, with Heuloix, Beatin, Geva, and Fufucha all demanding a fair share of my time. 

I didn’t mind, though. Work is good. Work keeps you busy. The repetitive, careful motions of crafting, in particular, help to clear my mind from extraneous thoughts, distracting me for a time from the memory of that halo of hair crowning his face, his husky voice whispering in my ear, his beard scratching the insides of my legs… 

_ Ahem. _

The cheeky recruits in my squadron actually made a show of not recognizing me at first, wondering who was this odd stranger claiming to be their commanding officer, lost so long ago at sea. I made sure to run missions with all of them after that, to make up for lost time. The hardest missions I could find, and then some.

See if they don’t remember me now.

Still, I think, dodging another swipe from Hoary Boulder, promoting Hastaloeya and Nanasomi was the right choice. Though right now it takes the two of them together to make one good officer, they both have the potential to become captains in their own right in due time.

I bring a flurry of punches to my opponent, who parries them easily with his shield, and as I retreat from his counterattack my eyes fall on Alisaie, pacing the Rising Stones like a woman possessed. 

No news is good news, they say, but it doesn’t seem to be so when it’s about your twin brother. There was never any assurance that Alphinaud would be able to send us messages from the heart of the Empire, but the uncertainty lies heavy on her shoulders.

“Twelve above, girl, we should find you something to do before you carve a groove in the floorboards.” 

Alisaie stops in her tracks at the sound of Y’shtola’s voice. The conjurer has just recently come back from her own travels, and still has to receive a full account of our last trip. “Apologies. Waiting for word from Alphinaud is exhausting,” she huffs, “And I don’t recall the last time I had nothing pressing to be getting on with… I should probably make the most of it. Shall I put on some tea?”

“Tea would be lovely,” Y’shtola nodded, taking a seat at the closest table, “You may regale me with the tale of your adventures in the Far East, and of your encounter with this new primal especially.”

“I’ll put the kettle on, then. Would you two men care to join us?”

“Absolutely… when we’re done here,” I say, “‘twould set a bad example to just drop out of training as soon as the opportunity for leisure presents itself.”

“Fine… But don’t take too long, or we’ll finish all the cookies!”

“Interesting…” Y’shtola is nibbling on one of the aforementioned cookies, having just listened to a condensed version of our trials abroad, “So this Tsukuyomi was summoned in much the same manner as Susano, via the medium of a sacred relic.”

Alisaie nods. “That’s right. They believe their gods - or _kami_ \- reside in physical objects.”

“Given the danger they represent, it may behoove us to begin a catalog of such relics. But if we are to contain the threat, we will require a better understanding of the summoning method itself. I believe I shall pay a visit to Doma, and learn what I can on the subject.”

“A fine idea. Last I talked to them, the Kojin of the Blue had started working on their own vault, to keep such relics away from the hands of the Red Kojin. And I know for a fact that our friends in Doma would be grateful for any information which could help to prevent further summoning in the region. I will pen you a letter of introduction: Lord Hien will wish to welcome our resident expert on aetherology.”

“Planning a trip to Doma?” I turn my head so fast I almost give myself whiplash, “Mind if I tag along?”

Y’shtola cocks her head, regaling me with one of her quasi-condescending smiles. “I appreciate the offer, but I do not think you would be interested in spending several days studying the aetheric intricacies of relics… Unless you have gained a newfound interest in theoretical magic during your time abroad?”

Oh, that is definitely not how I would spend my days in Doma. “You may still want to keep me at hand in case of accidental summonings. After all, Susano came to life by- Ow, what gives? I was talking!”

I rub the top of my head, where Hoary Boulder has just whacked me with the flat of his blade.

“Never distract yourself in combat,” the Hellsguard says, grinning, “even if it’s just training. Keep your senses honed on the battle at hand.” 

If it feels like he’s quoting, it’s because he is. I snort, hand still in my hair. “This is why I used to just nod and smile, you know. Once you get to talking, people will always find a way to turn your own words against you. Bah!” I laugh, “I’ll take that as my cue to hang my himantes and join the ladies for tea. What say you?”

“You’re the boss,” Hoary shrugs, “but just so you know, I’m counting this as a win.”

“Oh yeah, so you can brag about beating the Warrior of Light when he’s at his weakest. We can have a game of Triple Triad later, if you want to add that to your list of easy victories.”

He shoves me playfully, something he would never have considered doing a few months ago, and which I heartily approve of. If we’re talking about victories, I consider it one of mine whenever someone stops being smitten with hero worship and starts treating me like a person.

“If you don’t mind me being honest, though, I do not think that pugilist really suits you as a vocation,” Hoary says as we store away our training weapons, “It’s not that you lack the strength or the dexterity, but you don’t have the…” He waves his fingers, grasping for a word, “…the grace. Like when you use your bow. The weapon becomes an extension of yourself and, horas and himantes aside, in the end a pugilist is their own weapon.”

“That’s why I abandoned training the first time around. I think too much about what my limbs have to do instead of simply falling into the motion,” I sigh, shaking my head. “Lyse, though, she was grace incarnated, poetry in motion, and puncher of things into oblivion extraordinaire. Gods, I’m happy that she found her place in rebuilding her home country, but her absence is sorely missed in the field. We just don’t have anyone else like that. Uh, no offense.”

“None taken,” Hoary laughs, “I am not so presumptuous as to claim I have the same skill and experience as Lyse… but I’ll get there one day.”

“I am counting on it!”

A few minutes later we’ve freshened up enough to join Alisaie and Y’shtola at the table like civilized people. Alisaie has kept a small plate of cookies aside for us, defending them tooth and nail from the miqo’te, at least to hear her telling. Y’shtola keeps on affecting her casual disinterest, which I take as a sign not to tarry too long in eating my portion of the sweets lest she just snatches them out of the dish when I’m turned. 

“Why the sudden interest in the martial arts?” she asks, cutting through the small talk, “Is archery not to your satisfaction any more? Trying to find a new challenge?”

“It’s not that. I just-” My mind goes back to Zenos, and Tsukuyomi, and too many of my recent fights, “I’ve been in situations where I couldn’t use my bow, either because I had no more arrows, or there was not enough room to nock, or the enemy kept coming too close and personal. I would like to have a melee alternative at my disposal.”

“Hmm. And have you considered magic over physical weapons? Not that I’m offering to teach you, mind. At least not until you’re half as good as I am.”

I snicker. “Gods preserve me. But yes, I have actually tried conjuring and summoning - those little tests they have you do before you can join one of the guilds - and they all told me it would be an uphill battle. Apparently I do not have the right aptitude for borrowing power from the elements or the Void.”

Alisaie seems about to say something, and I cock my head at her. 

“Well,” she says, “if you want to use magic _and_ a melee weapon _and_ not have to rely on an external source of aether for your spells… have you considered red magic?”

“Red magic? What’s that?” Hoary asks. 

“A discipline created by the mages of Mhach and Amdapor while in hiding, combining traits of both white and black magic, and drawing from one’s own energy instead of the ambient aether,” Y’shtola says, sipping from her tea before continuing, “Which is a very dangerous thing to do, by the by, unless you excel at your craft.” She taps the side of her head, pointing to her silvery-white pupils. Ever since she came back from the Lifestream, the conjurer has been using magic to see, her normal eyesight having been lost in the desperate maneuver. 

“Oh, it’s safe as houses. You just need a magicked crystal medium to amplify the aether - that’s the floaty red crystal thingie - and then it’s all about balancing black and white before you strike.” 

Y’shtola doesn’t seem too convinced by Alisaie’s reply. “That’s all well and fine for the energies wielded in combat, but greater spells will naturally veer more toward one polarity or the other-”

“-but since I would just be using it in combat, I think we can set that objection aside for now,” I step in before this turns into yet another endless theoretical, arcanism-versus-conjuring debate, “So what would I do to learn the basics of red magic? Can you teach me?”

Alisaie shakes her head. “Well, I _could_ , but it would be much faster to get in contact with my mentor, X’rhun Tia, and ask him to give you a soul crystal. He only has a handful of them, recovered from the Crimson Duelists of Gyr Abania, but I doubt he would find a better suited candidate than you for the job, given the part you played in liberating the region.”

“Sounds like a plan, then. Now, back to Doma-”

Y’shtola sighs into her tea. “I already told you, I do not need an escort.” 

“I won’t get under your feet, I promise. I’ll spend most of my time with- friends,” I catch myself just in time, “until you have need of someone to carry your things or slay gigantic beasts.”

“Oh please, let him come with you,” Alisaie says, leaning over the table and propping her chin on her hands, “He’ll be insufferable otherwise, and visiting his ‘friends’ may give us all a few days’ respite from his forlorn pining.”

I take deep gulps of my tea to hide my blushing, which is not at all due to what the girl just said, not at all. It’s just the heat of the brew, honest.

Y’shtola narrows her eyes, looking from me to her and back. “Is there some context I’m missing here, or-”

Hoary leans in as well, mock-whispering “Caranraw here has the hots for the lord of Doma, and it’s requited,” and I show proof of my excellent self-control by not spraying everyone around the table with hot tea.

I manage to gulp it down before crying out in reply. “Hoary!” 

“Well, it’s true.”

“It’s also supposed to be a _secret_!”

“Ah, so that explains the eagerness,” Y’shtola smiles, crossing her legs and cocking her head to rest on the back of her hand, “Very well. I suppose I can task you with carrying the luggage. But really, are you still at that point in your life where you need to find an excuse to go and have a good time?”

“That’s not-”

“Greetings!” Thancred’s voice comes as sweet relief, “Could it be that I’m in time for tea?”

“It certainly looks that way,” I say, perhaps a little too eager, and borrow a chair from the nearby table, “Come on, sit down and tell us how your investigations went.”

Y’shtola is kind enough to let the previous topic drop - for the time being - and the conversation drifts to Zenos’ tomb and his apparent revivification. 

“If Asahi was as fervent a devotee as you believe,” Y’shtola is saying, “he would not have been fooled by an impersonation, however committed. We must assume that we are dealing with an Ascian, and proceed accordingly.”

Thancred nods. “Agreed. The question is, how many _more_ such monsters are waiting for Alphinaud in Garlemald?”

Well. Though the question is legitimate, it was rather indelicate to phrase it like that with Alisaie at the table, fretting as she already is. I spot her closing her fists under the table, hands shaking, but she manages to keep a remarkable composure on her face. 

“Their presence was his chief reason for going. He understood the risks. I only hope,” her voice cracks but for a moment, “he did not underestimate the extent of the infestation…”

Thancred is silent for a moment, but I recognize the look in his eyes. He used to make the same face whenever he thought that Minfilia needed help. “Well… While your brother journeys to Garlemald from the east, I could make my way there from Ala Mhigo and find out what there is to be learned in the Empire’s western provinces. ‘Twouldn’t be just to put your heart at ease,” he quickly adds, “but to gather valuable intel about avenues of resistance.”

“Then I’m coming with you!” Alisaie slams her hand on the table, stirring proverbial storms in the teacups - all except Y’shtola’s, who had swiftly raised hers to her lips, “I can’t very well sit here sipping tea if there’s action to be taken!”

Thancred shakes his head. “Forgive me, Alisaie, but the provinces are hostile territory, and stealth is all important. It is safer that I go alone.”

“I can sneak well enough when the situation demands it! Don’t patronize me!” Alisaie jumps to her feet and the storms become hurricanes, flooding the table in their wake. Hoary pushes his chair back, suppressing a yelp and looking like a kid caught in the midst of a quarrel at the grown-up’s table.

I rise as well, repressing a sigh, and reach a hand out to squeeze her shoulder. “Alisaie… If I could be of help to Thancred I would not want to stay home either, but we both know that stealth is neither mine nor your best quality. Let us trust in his skills.”

“Not you too,” she frowns, shrugging me off. 

Y’shtola puts her cup down, the tea inside as even as her voice. “I understand your frustration, Alisaie, but Caranraw has the right of it. We must defer to Thancred’s expertise in this matter.”

The girl looks like she’s about to retort, then her shoulders slump and she falls back in her seat, defeated. “It seems that praying from my brother’s safety is to be the extent of my contribution after all… but I will stay behind, as I have been bid.”

“We all have our talents,” Thancred gives her what I suppose is meant to be a reassuring smile, though it comes out rather piratesque, what with that bandage over his left eye, “Mine just happen to involve a silver tongue and soft soles. I promise to send word the moment I learn aught of consequence.”

* * *

Half of me wanted to jump ahead and wait for Y’shtola at the Enclave, but after forcing her to accept my presence on this journey, it would have been hypocritical of me to leave her alone for the whole voyage at sea. 

I do, however, take the time to pen a letter to Hien before departing; while I trust the moogles to deliver Alisaie’s missive in time (well, _mostly_ trust) it does not hurt to have a backup, especially if it means continuing the epistolary romance of Shun and Rhotkoel. 

Besides her affected aloofness I think Y’shtola does enjoy the company on the trip, especially when the rolling of the waves makes her queasy. I try to tell her as much as I remember about local customs, lore and legends, anything that may help in her investigation, and she listens intently, sometimes stopping me to ask for clarifications, other times nodding along, as if I were just confirming things she had already known or read about. 

The only time she doubts my stories is when I talk about the Four Lords. “A menagerie of thousand-year old animal demigods, and four of them just happened to be friends with a Warrior of Light from the East? And you saw this Tenzen’s soul during the final fight? _And_ your kojin friend turned into a turtle god? Are you sure it was not a hallucination caused by the toxic fumes of the volcano?”

“Tataru was there for most of it so, if it was a hallucination, it was a shared one - and particularly realistic to boot, given all the treasures we brought home,” I chuckle, “Why does this story seem implausible to you, after everything we’ve been through?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, “I suppose it’s because we have never had anything like that in Eorzea or Dravania or Sharlayan. You’d think that if common animals could live well beyond their natural age there would be stories of it somewhere.”

I shrug. “Maybe there are. Maybe some gods of lore were just lonely auspices that didn’t know better about their true nature. And to be fair, the only reason I know about the Eastern ones is because they invited me into their home: ours may be just as reclusive.”

“That’s a lot of ‘maybe’s, my friend, but I concede the point. I should not deny that something exists merely because it offends my logical sensibilities… gods know half the star would disappear on the spot, if that were the case.”

I cross my arms, smirking. “Would I be one of those things?”

She just smiles in reply.

The ship arrives safely in Kugane. Despite the countless distractions that the city allows, and the greater number she offers where the Sekiseigumi don’t see, we remain only the short time necessary to book passage across the Ruby Sea - a much simpler affair now that the Garleans are gone and trade routes have reopened. Y’shtola clearly bristled at the idea of paying the Ruby Tithe, and I thought she was well going to set the entire Confederacy on fire until I talked her down.

“Are we friends and allies with pirates, now? I suppose one makes do with what’s available,” she complains later in Isari over a bowl of fish stew. 

“Don’t diss it. They're good people, after a fashion, and hey, they even gave us a discount!”

“ _That_ was a lower tithe? They’re even worse thieves than I thought.”

Once more on the road, and with only the shortest stops to take aetherial measurements and attune to the Aetheryte in Namai, we finally arrive at the Doman Enclave. 

“Caranraw!” Kozakura intercepts us on the way to the Kienkan, “It is good to see you! I cannot begin to thank you enough for all your contributions! Your retainers have provided us with everything we need to get the Ten Thousand Stalls up and running.”

She bows profusely, regardless of all the times I told her she doesn’t have to, but when she straightens she also points her finger at me, attempting to look fierce. “But I told you repeatedly that we have a weekly budget! I cannot keep on accepting more items than we can pay for. We are looking to rebuild an economy as well as the Enclave, and that won’t work if you just keep breaking the rules.”

Y’shtola covers a chuckle with her hand, then says, “That is a lost battle, I’m afraid: breaking limits is what our friend does best.”

Kozakura bows to her as well, a quick if formal greeting. “Are you one of Caranraw’s friends from the West, my lady?”

“‘Tis been a while since anyone but Urianger called me a _lady_ ,” she chuckles, but returns the bow perfectly, “but indeed I am. My name is Y’shtola, and you must be Kozakura.”

“You know of me?” Kozakura blushes furiously, then bows again, “That is- I am glad of making your acquaintance.”

“Likewise. Our mutual friend here talks highly of your efforts to rebuild after the occupation.”

“It’s a group venture, really! I am merely the coordinator, and I sort of just fell into the role, and-”

Endearing (and amusing) as Kozakura’s babbling explanations are, my attention drifts elsewhere, caught by the unusual sight of a tall lupine warrior running all around the Tenkonto with a little girl riding on his shoulders. “Is that-”

“Run, wolfie, run!” Kazane shouts and Hakuro picks up the pace, making her shriek and laugh at once. 

“Oh, yes,” Kozakura laughs, “ever since lord Hien told him of your meeting with that girl, Hakuro has been taking his betrothed duties very seriously.”

“Betrothed? No wait, don’t tell me,” Y’shtola shakes her head, smiling, “another long story.”

“A rather short one, as it would,” I say, staring at the odd couple and doing my best to commit the scene to memory, “but it’s best told in the company of the other person who was there. Come, let me introduce you to the Lord of Doma.”

The guard at the door is the same one that denied me access the very same night that I met Kazane, so I take a brief, wicked satisfaction in seeing her squirm at my sight. Even I, however, am not so rash as to just barge in on a ruler unannounced, so I ask her with all courtesy to announce our presence and ask when lord Hien would be able to receive us.

The answer, as it turns out, is ‘pretty soon’, for a minute later we’re shown to the central room. Hien’s right at the threshold and he grasps my hands, his smile so bright that it could shatter mountains. “It is good to see you, my friend! I received your letter, but I did not think that you would arrive so soon. And you must be Y’shtola,” he says, turning to the Miqo’te and bowing, “I have heard much about you from your Scion comrades and, of course, any friend of Caranraw is more than welcome here in Doma.”

Y’shtola smiles at the eager reception, nodding her head graciously. “I am her, my lord, and I thank you for your hospitality. I trust that you have also received Alisaie’s letter of introduction?”

“I did, and if you are half the scholar she makes you to be, your help in culling the Primal threat will be more than welcome. All our resources are at your disposal in this task, and I trust our allies among the Kojin will be eager to talk to you as well.”

“That is very generous of you, my lord,” Y’shtola bows, then winks at me, “I must agree with your assessment, Caranraw: lord Hien is indeed very gallant and charming.”

I do not blush at Y’shtola’s words, having waited for a rib from the moment we entered the Kienkan. My composure falters, though, when Hien crosses his arms and his smile turns impish. “Am I now? I believe I should be flattered that you introduce me as such to your close friends, although it bears saying that my level of charm rather depends on my interlocutor, as you witnessed during our last meeting.”

“Alas,” I nod gravely, “if glares could actually kill, that whole affair with Asahi would have been done with much more swiftly.”

Y’shtola has been looking at our exchange the whole time, a bemused smirk on her lips. “If you two are done flirting, I would impose on your hospitality, my lord, and retire to my room. We can discuss the details of my research and the required resources once we’re all rested. Oh, don’t make that face,” she tells me, “there’s no one listening on us but Yugiri. The worst kept secret of the Warrior of Light is safe.”

“My lord’s worst kept secret as well. ‘Tis good to see you again, Y’shtola,” the shinobi says, melting out of the shadows as is her wont.

Hien laughs and I spread my hands in defeat. “At the rate the news is spreading, there will be no need of an official reveal when the time comes.”

“Indeed. But your companion has the right of it: rest and recover from your travels, and we can discuss more over dinner.”

* * *

Our mouths are on each other as soon as we’re alone. His lips taste of tea and grass and honey, an intoxicating flavour that pulls me to him like a meteor to the ground, with the incessant need to crash, and crash, and crash against each other. 

I see that he prepared for my arrival this time, for he pushes me into a side room in his apartments containing a Hingan bed large enough for both of us to roll on it without falling down, and covered in the finest sheets and blankets. 

“Are you sure you can just take off in the middle of the day like this?” I ask, disentangling from him long enough to tug at his belt.

“As soon as I knew you were coming, I started making contingencies, so we could make the most of our time together,” Hien helps me with his dogi, and I can’t stop myself from running my hands over his exposed skin, his beautiful, strong chest. He covers my hands with his own, bringing them to his lips to kiss them, “I had a hard time convincing Yugiri and Hakuro, but I believe you will find my plan most agreeable.”

“Any time spent with you is _most agreeable_ , my sun,” I cup his face with my hands when he releases them, pulling him down so our foreheads are touching, “but I’ll admit that my curiosity is piqued.”

“Later,” he smiles, “over dinner. I have missed you fiercely and, right now, I need you to fill that emptiness.”

“ _Language_ , my lord!”

He punches my shoulder, then we both argue with my jacket, giving up halfway through, and fall half-undressed on the bed, chest against chest, tongue mingling with tongue. 

I wake with a start at a soft knock on the partition, followed by Yugiri’s voice. “My lord? Dinner will be served in a bell.” 

Hien, who had already scrambled to his feet from his resting position on my chest, lets out a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing. “Thank you, Yugiri.”

“I took the liberty of having a bath drawn for you and your guests,” she adds, and we can hear her steps receding before we can reply. 

I fall back on the bed, burying my face in my hands. “Twelve above! She will definitely give me a heart attack, one of these days.”

Hien climbs back over me, sliding his hands over my chest and up to where my jacket still covers my shoulders. “Do not let her surly attitude fool you into thinking she does not like you. Besides, she would not leave your demise to something so unpredictable as heart failure. Poison, perhaps, or a knife at the back.”

“That is less reassuring than you think,” I prop myself up on an elbow, pulling him in for a quick kiss, “In all honesty, I do appreciate her keeping an eye on things and covering for us, but I get tired of the constant surveillance… even while I acknowledge the need for it.”

“If that is the case, I believe you will like my plan even more. But come now, let us clean ourselves up - separately, I’m afraid.”

“Cruel, cruel fate,” I bring a hand to my brow theatrically, raising my eyes to the ceiling, “however shall we cope, being separated for so long.”

Hien leans close to my ear and whispers things he would do to me in the hot water, and as he ushers me out of the room, an impish smile on his lips, it becomes a cruel fate indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caranraw going to Othard with Y’shtola is a minor deviance from canon, but it shouldn't really affect much except from skipping that brief trip to Ala Mhigo when they meet up with Thancred.


	2. In which Hien comes up with an overly-complicated plan and receives his just deserts

“Well, someone’s in a good mood,” Y’shtola smirks, entering the room that has been readied for our dinner with an open book in one hand and a mug of tea in the other, “You look positively aglow. Perhaps we should convince Tataru to let you open a foreign chapter of the Scions here in Doma.”

She sits on the nearest pillow in a fluid motion, setting the mug on the low table while never prying her eyes away from the book in her hands.

“It’s bad habit to read at the dinner table, you know,” I say in lieu of an answer, and her smile widens.

“Mayhaps, but it seems that our host is yet to arrive, unlike you. You seem to have found your way rather quickly into his sanctum.” 

I frown, and she grows serious for a moment. “Honestly, if you really want to keep up this charade, try at least to pretend that you’ve been in your room for a few minutes. Is that his dress you’re wearing?”

I spread my arms to show off the elaborate patterns on the sleeves. “It’s called a _haori_ , and no, it’s mine. I fear Hien’s outfits would be just a tad too tight on the shoulders for me. Not to mention short.”

“Who are you calling short?” Hien enters the room, with Yugiri and Hakuro at his side. He’s wearing a lovely amber dogi, similar to his usual garb but made of a lighter fabric and not fur-lined. His hair, tied back as usual, still has some of the damp shine from his bath. 

My breath hitches at the sight. He’s so beautiful it hurts. 

Hien introduces Hakuro to Y’shtola, then sits down to my left and plants a quick kiss on my cheek. “Hm. I rather like that I can still leave you speechless. But you didn’t answer my question.” 

“You are spectacular in many different ways, my dear Hien,” I retort, wrapping an arm round his side, “but height is not one of them, even for a Hyur. If it makes you feel better, however, I believe that everyone in Doma dwarfs in comparison to Hakuro here. I scarcely believed that Kurobana was his brother.”

“You have met him?” Hakuro startles, “I hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”

“Not at all. He’s a fine lad, and with a keen sense of smell. Last I saw him, he was keeping the rice paddies clear of rot and stray beasts.”

“Huh,” the general seems surprised at first, but that soon gives way to a canine smile and a prideful puffing of his chest, “I suppose I have to thank you for this change?”

“He did all the hard parts by himself. I just… gave a little nudge here and there.”

“Did Caranraw give _a little nudge_ in choosing your betrothed as well?” Y’shtola asks Hakuro, “I’m told there’s quite a story behind that one.”

“Indeed!” Hien laughs, “and it all starts with me being late…”

We retell the tale of our meeting with Kazane and her father, and Hakuro picks up from there. “A few days later I’m supervising a training session at the barracks - well, what will eventually _be_ the barracks - when a little girl charges into the yard, a wooden figurine of a wolf held high, and shouting my name at the top of her lungs. Her father just wouldn’t stop apologizing, but I was more interested in hearing the story of how that toy got its name…”

“On the very next day he comes to the Kienkan, wearing his finest dress uniform, carrying Kazane on his shoulders, and tells me that he must refuse the betrothal. Her father’s relief was short lived, though…” Hien pauses for dramatic effect, “…for immediately after he says ‘Until she comes of age, of course. In the while, I shall train her in the art of the sword, as is appropriate for the bride of a general.’ The face of the poor man!”

We all laugh - even Y’shtola lets out a sensible chuckle - and Hakuro just shrugs. “Twas all in jest, of course, an amusement to entertain the child… but she is enjoying her ‘training’ so far, and I as well,” his gaze turns wistful for a moment, “I never had pups of my own, but my brother started looking up to me after our father died and our mother took ill. Kazane reminds me much of him when he was young. That boundless energy, the enthusiasm… Well, it’s years from now, but I won’t turn her away if she decides to walk the way of the warrior in earnest once she’s older. Someone has to guide the army once this wolf gets too old for the job, after all.”

“And meanwhile you get to give piggyback rides.”

“And meanwhile I get to give piggyback rides,” he nods.

The staff takes advantage of the lull in conversation to bring in our meal. It’s a veritable feast, all the more impressive for having been prepared in such a short time. There is rice, of course, and fried pork, dried persimmons, all sorts of fish - raw, grilled, marinated - and bamboo steamers full of dumplings. 

Hien invites me to try one after dipping it in sauce. I take a bite and ponder at the oddly familiar flavor, rolling the filling in my mouth to better figure it out. “Is this… dzo meat? From the Steppe?”

Hien smiles, thrilled that I recognized it so quickly. “Indeed. Do you remember those bedraggled Budugas at the Ten Thousand Stalls?”

“How could I not? Are they still trying to kidnap you?”

“Oh yes!” Hakuro barks a laugh, “Their clumsy attempts provide excellent exercise for the new guards.”

“On their latest bid they tried to trade _me_ for a steady supply of meat from their hunts!” Hien roars, slapping his thigh, “Luckily, Mitsuba was able to steer them towards a more sensible agreement: an arrangement with the traders in Reunion in exchange for rice balls, and more Doman products, as soon as the Yard is completed. And that means we can now have delicious _buuz_ whenever we like even here at the Enclave.”

“You seem to live an exciting life, my lord,” Y’shtola says, filling her plate with small samples of everything.

“Not as lively as these tales make it seem. Most of my days are spent sitting in the meeting room, talking to aides and representatives, hearing grievances and passing judgments. Moments of elation are far and in-between, and therefore I treasure them… which brings us to the reason for this meal, aside from the welcome company. I would bid you start with your plans for your research, my lady.”

Y’shtola nods and delineates her basic scheme: examine as many relics as possible, travel the land to inspect the aetheric layout of the country, and study all texts and accounts available on the topic, before collating the results and elaborating a strategy to reduce the risk of summonings. Yugiri undertakes to introduce her to the Blue Kojin, while Hien grants her full access to the royal library - what remains of it after the fall of Doma Castle, anyway. 

“Do you plan to extend your research to Kugane as well?” Yugiri asks.

“Not at the moment. We have not seen evidence of such summonings on the island of Shishu, nor I believe the Hingan government would be very forthcoming with such information.”

“It looks like we’ll be travelling there by ourselves, then,” Hien tells me.

“We are?” I blink, surprised, while Yugiri shakes her head. 

“My lord, if you would at least let me provide you with an escort-”

“But I will have one. The best of escorts, in fact,” Hien replies, patting my arm.

Hakuro chuckles. “He has a point there.”

“All right,” I say, holding a hand up like I’m in school, “would anyone care to fill me in? When are we going to Kugane, and who, and why?” 

“Just you and I,” Hien says, “although I wouldn’t be accompanying you as the Lord of Doma, but merely as one of your many adventurer friends.”

“I… why?”

“That is the same thing I have been asking him,” Yugiri says, “Perhaps he will give you a more satisfactory answer.”

Hien crosses his arms, shifting in his seat. “The budding trade deals of the Shazenkai have brought me to think that the long-term survival of our nation will have to rely not only on ourselves and our ingenuity, but also on the recognition of our neighbors with a larger influence. As strong as our bonds with Ala Mhigo and the Eorzean alliance are, they are half a world away, and we cannot expect them to send troops here on short notice in case of trouble, which makes them a weak deterrent against reprisal from Garlemald. Likewise, the Empire cuts us off from any direct trade route with Aldenard by air or ground. That leaves us with only one port through which to conduct business abroad, both commercial and political: Kugane.”

Y’shtola returns to her pondering stance, inclining her head to rest on her hand. “I thought Hingashi declared itself neutral in regards to the Empire and its expansionist aspirations? Do you not believe they would favor trade from Doma to Eorzea and back?”

“They would not impede the movement of merchandise, no, but the lack of a permanent Doman presence in the city puts at a disadvantage when it comes to grasping opportunities and brokering deals in the first place, unless we tied ourselves to a third party, like the East Aldenard Trading Company… which, as Caranraw reminded me the last time he was here, would not do so out of the kindness of their heart, but only if they could turn a profit from it.”

“So what is your idea?”

“I would reopen the Doman consulate in Kugane.” Hien raises a hand to forestall objections. “Or, that is, I would see if there are the conditions for doing so. The so-vaunted Hingan neutrality is but an act born out of fear and opportunity, trading the independence of their neighbors for their own safety, and the profits from the sales of the technological scraps that the Empire brings to their markets. Acknowledging a consulate from a province that recently escaped from Imperial clutches may be considered a faux pas, and invite Garlean retaliation, economic or otherwise.” 

I nod, trying to follow his reasoning. “And that is why you would walk around town incognito? So that the lord bugyo of Kugane will not be seen to meet with the king of Doma? I assume you will have to reveal yourself at some point during that meeting, and even I am not so naive to believe that there will not be spies and double-dealers ready to trickle that news back to the Garlean consulate.”

“I am well aware of that. But there is one more reason for going there as your unassuming companion… to feel the mood of the people regarding the liberation of Doma. You have already a favorable reputation in Kugane, and you - and I, by reflection - can ask questions around the city without raising too much suspicion.”

I slowly scratch my chin. “I suppose it makes sense. Well, if you think it is worth the trip, I will obviously do my best to help and-”

My eye catches Y’shtola’s and I stop, her mirth barely concealed by a coy hand in front of her mouth. “Gods,” she says, “you two are truly made for each other. I could not believe that someone would go to more elaborate lengths than you to justify a vacation, Caranraw, but there we are.”

I expect Yugiri to scold Y’sthola for talking so out of place to her lord, or insinuating that his motives may be less than pure. Instead the shinobi laughs, a sound even more startling for being so unexpected. “So what’s what this is? By the kami, how did I not see it?”

Y’shtola’s smirk is plain for all to see now. “I suppose I knew what signs to look for, given that the only reason why Caranraw is here is that he insisted on accompanying me on a trip where his help was neither needed nor requested. As much as he says that he appreciates the downtime between fights, it seems that the Warrior of Light must justify his time off to himself after all, and the Lord of Doma as well.”

Once more I thank my grey skin for hiding most of my embarrassment, and I envy Hien for being able to maintain a perfect composure after being seen through so thoroughly. 

Almost perfect. Hidden under the low table, but visible from me at his side, his hands close in tight fists. “We are not afforded the luxury of rest. With so much yet to be done in Doma, how can I justify a journey of any length that does not benefit my country? How can I rest freely when constant judgments demand my attention, when Garlemald may come crashing down at our gates at any moment, when my people might starve in the winter to come if we do not secure crops, meats, fuel?”

His brusque words betray his inner turmoil, one that I know too well, so I squeeze his shoulder and give him what I hope is a soothing smile. “Hien… from what I’ve seen, Mitsuba has well secured the procurement of provisions, Kozakura is more than able to handle the development of the Yard, and Hakuro and Yugiri can take care of anything but the most urgent of matters. And if Garlemald does rear its head, we’re but a brief trip away from Doma.”

“Indeed,” Hakuro agrees, thumping his chest, “the Doman spirit is strong, and we will not crumble merely because you’re resting for a few days.”

“Besides,” Y’shtola adds, “your idea is not completely without merit, even without the pretense of scouting for a consulate. Exposing oneself to different cultures and customs is a vital skill for a young lord planning to bring his nation on the global stage, and I doubt there are cities this side of the world where so many cultures mingle at once as they do in Kugane.”

Hien’s tension seems to melt under their words, his fingers slowly unclenching. At the end of it he even flashes a smile. “Are you crafting excuses for me, now? I thought your whole point was that I did not need one.”

Y’shtola laughs. “I suppose that must be Caranraw’s influence rubbing off on me. I stand my case, however. Yugiri tells me that you have thrown yourself into your duties day and night since Alphinaud left. I should not have to remind you that self-care is another essential skill: a tired, overworked king is one bound to make bad decisions, sooner rather than later.”

Hien’s gaze moves from her to Yugiri. “I see I have conspirators in my inner circle - but I suppose I should have expected that from the craftiest of my shinobi. Very well: I will take this vacation for what it is. But if I see an opportunity for the betterment of Doma, I will not hesitate to catch it.”

Yugiri tilts her head in a slow nod, and thus consensus is reached.

* * *

After dinner, Hien shows me how to sneak quietly into the bedroom he prepared for us. Our clothes don’t last long after that.

“I must say,” I purr into his hair, “as much as I liked our clandestine meetings, this is much better than a single-sized futon.” I emphasize my statement by stretching luxuriously, and Hien bats at me playfully when I pin him under one arm. 

“You _do_ take a lot of space.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“Nonsense. You are perfect as you are.” In a swift motion he disentangles himself and climbs all over me like a vine. “I cannot wait to walk freely with you in Kugane, to talk and joke and do all sorts of things normal couples do, without hiding or pretense.”

“Well,” I say, kissing his hair and running my fingers down his spine, “there will be some small pretense under your plan. You had better tell me all about this adventurer friend of mine, in case people ask me about him. How did we meet? What is his favourite food? And what’s his name, anyway? Are you going as Shun?”

Hien shivers at my touch, shifting lightly over me. “Hmm. Silly as it is, I prefer to leave Shun to our letters, and in the company of Rhotkoel. What if I simply went as Hien? It’s a common enough name here in the East.”

“Do you plan on leaving your sword at home?”

He furrows his brow for a moment, thinking. “Well, I wouldn’t bring my usual sword, but-”

“Then no. If I travel with a young samurai from Doma named Hien, people are bound to remark on the coincidence and, if you insist on going in disguise, what we need to do is to drive attention _away_ from you.”

“You make a good point. Let me think about it, then.”

He closes his eyes and I keep on stroking his back gently, committing to memory his figure, and the way the candlelight plays over his skin. I almost think he’s fallen asleep when he stirs and kisses my chest. “What do you think of Sora? It means ‘sky’ - a simple enough name, and a callback to our old promise.”

I pull him up for a proper kiss. “I like it. I like it a lot. Now tell me, where in Doma does Sora hail from?”

“Well, I suppose some remote village up in the mountains, where he managed to avoid conscription. Perhaps he escaped to the Steppe-”

“No similarities.”

“Mor Dhona, then? He was one of the refugees that fled with Yugiri, and he took up the sword to help defend his people. He - I mean _I_ \- met you in Revenant’s Toll, and you were kind enough to allow a young, inexperienced samurai to follow you in a few small leves.” 

“Hmm. It’s a good thing that there is no fighting allowed in Kugane, or that lie would crumble like a castle of cards the moment you unsheathed your katana. No one would believe that ‘Sora’ has been swinging a sword for less than two years.”

“Perhaps he’s a quick study?”

“And extremely charming. Now, the next thing is to do something about this hair…”

I comb my fingers through his mane and he pulls back, squinting. “I’m not cutting it, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

I hold my palms up in surrender. “I wouldn’t dare suggest it. I like it too much. But maybe we could style it differently… or, well, just style it. A braid, perhaps, or a ponytail? Some dye, too. Jandelain is bound to have something that can be washed off…”

“You, my love, are having way too much fun with this charade.”

“It is your charade, I should remind you. And isn’t having fun with it the whole point of this outing?”

“I suppose it is. Now, is there any other detail we- You’re grinning. Why are you grinning?” 

Hien sighs in dismay as my grin grows wider. 

“Because now we have to think of your clothes!”

* * *

“This is an indignity.”

“It’s fashionable.”

It’s the middle of the night at the House of the Fierce, where we have completed the final preparations before our departure. Hien is pacing around the Aetheryte, trying to get a feel for the outfit I bought for him. The weaver called it a “Nezha lord” outfit, whatever a Nezha is - some kind of kami, I guess, or yet another of the long-lost civilizations that seem to riddle this world. His hair has been tinted mahogany red and pulled back into a loose braid, with only a roguish bang falling out of place over his right eye, making him look more the part of the errant samurai. We cannot do much to hide the scar over his eye, but the jacket will at least hide the large one on his shoulder.

“And who would go and expose their chest like that? It’s a weak point. The weakest of points. It’s like I’m saying ‘well met, fellow opponent, please come and stab me through the heart’.”

“It’s just a glamour on the undershirt. And it’s distracting in all the good ways.”

Hien, unconvinced, tugs at the corners of his new jacket, short enough to leave a few ilms of his sides exposed above the belt. “And this red is so garish,” he adds weakly, a man who knows he has lost the battle.

“You’re wearing a fur-lined, embroidered, bright yellow dogi most of the time. You cannot talk of garish. Now can we please go?”

Hien takes a deep breath, trying to think of a last-minute objection, then exhales and shakes his head. “Yes, let us depart. At least no one will see us arrive, at this time of night.”

Hien attunes with the Aetheryte, marking it as his return destination, then prepares for the trip to Kugane. I wait until his teleport is complete before bursting out into giggles. “Oh, you sweet summer child…”

The moment I appear in the plaza, I’m assaulted by the familiar din of a bustling city that never sleeps. Lights and lanterns of every color illuminate the streets in a rainbow half-light as people scuttle to and fro, going about their life, uncaring that the dawn is still several bells to come.

“By the kami,” Hien whispers at my side, rooted on the spot, “you did tell me that Kugane has a busy night life, but I didn’t think…”

He trails off and I nod. “It truly is a sight, isn’t it? Welcome to the crossroads of the world, Sora.”

Before our departure, I asked Hien how much he knew of Kugane. He was there briefly after the liberation, of course, to catch us before our return trip to Eorzea; and as he told me once, he visited the city as a boy with his father. 

“A lot has changed since then,” he says now, as we make our way to the Bokairo Inn, “though in many ways it is yet the same. There are many more westerners, that is for sure, or they simply mingle with less apprehension. Hingashi used to be quite strict about breaches of protocol and social faux passes, and its officers didn’t think that growing up in a different nation - or an altogether different continent - was any sort of excuse for not knowing the proper etiquette.”

“I imagine that the influx of adventurers in recent times forced them to reconsider their stance on several cultural norms… as long as they keep on bringing in the money.”

“Would that we could attract a tenth of this crowd to our shores… Ah, and these are the famous hot springs, I believe.”

“Did the vapour plumes tip you off?” 

“That… and the sign saying ‘Seaview Springs’.” 

Hien points to the writing at the base of the stairs and I squint at the foreign letters. “Huh. Is that what Bokaisen means?”

“You still can’t read Hingan?” Hien shakes his head, amused, “I thought the Echo translated things for you.”

“Ah… how did Minfilia put it?” I raise my eyes to the sky, tapping my chin as I try to recollect the exact words, “It lets me know what the soul of the other person wants me to know. So if you say something in Doman, I will hear what you meant in my tongue, and vice versa. Script, alas, has no soul, so there’s no other way for it than to learn the alphabet - and yes, reading Hingan is not my forte. Top down, left to right, all those excessively ornate brushstrokes…”

Hien laughs. “Should I give you some private lessons? It would be ironic if the great Warrior of Light, slayer of a thousand foes, were ever to be stumped by a road sign he couldn’t read.”

“Yes please? That would be-”

“Is that my favourite _ijin_ errand boy I spot? Why, it does seem so!” A familiar voice calls my attention as we reach the top of the stairs: an old man with auburn skin, a big nose, and white hair and beard, wearing a blue haori and kimono with a golden belt. “And I see you’ve come with a new friend. Did you leave those impetuous twins at home? How are they faring these days?”

“They’re well enough, all things considered,” I reply, which is an enormous lie, but I’m not going to say that we lost track of Alphinaud on the way to Garlemald and that is driving his sister mad. 

I pat Hien’s shoulder, pushing him one step forward. “This is Sora, a samurai from Doma. We’re travelling together for a time. Sora, this is Amaji, the manager of the Bokaisen.”

“It is an honor to meet you, sir. We hope to take advantage of your facilities in the days to come.” Hien dips into a perfect Eastern bow, and Amaji returns the gesture. “The honor is mine, and any friend of Caranraw is welcome here. In fact,” he adds, with a flash of a savvy smirk, “why don’t you join us here tonight? I may even waive the entry fee for anyone so kind as to get me some fresh sake from the Shiokaze Hostelry…”

I hold my hands up, laughing. “Hold up, old man! We have only just arrived in town and it is too late - or too early - for fetch quests, even for me.”

“Fair enough,” Amaji chuckles, “and have you already secured lodgings for your stay?”

“Not yet. We’re actually headed for the Bokairo Inn right now.”

He nods. “I won’t keep you, then. You’d better get there quickly before the crowd in here realize they’re either too drunk or too tired from the hot waters to walk back all the way home, and decide to steal all the rooms in the inn.” He chuckles again and waves us off, returning to his counter.

The Bokairo is just a flight of stairs away from the hot springs, so it’s not long before we can secure a room of our own. I splurge on a larger suite, since it’s going to be our base of operations for the next two weeks, and for once Hien doesn’t complain about my spending habits.

He does have something to say about our lodgings, though. His eyes quickly scout over the room after the valet leaves us, scowling at the decor. “A raised _irori_. How modern. And a replica of a traditional suit of armor… They are laying it down rather thick with the decorations.”

“Well, it is an inn for visitors from abroad, after all. Faking the ambiance is part of the game. I do like the view on the sand garden, though. It’s relaxing.”

I slide open the doors of the round window and we step out on the short balcony. Hien leans over the banister, letting the sea wind comb through his hair. “The view is nice, I’ll concede that. And I can’t fault an innkeep for catering to his Western visitors… especially given your less than enthusiastic opinion of our Doman beds.”

“I’m getting used to them. But I still think that it’s wrong to roll your mattress out on the floor unless you’re camping.”

“To each their own,” he says, but his voice is distracted, the topic slipping out of his mind as his attention is captured by the night lights reflecting on the open water to the left, “Is it always like this? Is all the world out there like this? So… vibrant.”

“Hmm. No, not like this, exactly. Kugane has a glitz all of its own. But each place has its splendors, whether they’re mute and somber, or covered in gilt and lights like here.” I wrap my arms around him, resting my chin over his head and looking in his same direction. “Why do you ask? Pining to explore more of the world?”

“You know I do,” he says, leaning into me, “but Kugane will have to suffice as a sampler of all this star has to offer… for now. Perhaps one day my country will be secure enough that you’ll be able to steal me away for a grand tour of all the places you’ve seen. Your woods dense with spirits, your desert cities and dens of pirates, your islands in the clouds… I envy your freedom.”

I kiss the top of his head. “Though I do have fewer responsibilities tying me to one place, you do realize it’s been duty that brought me to most of those places in the first instance? Hells, the only reason I’d been allowed to sneak into Ishgard was because I was fleeing arrest after an attempted coup d’etat.”

Hien laughs, hugging my arms tighter. “Well, we have that much in common, at least. I daresay our time on the lam has done both of us good in the long run, despite the tragic reasons that brought us there.”

“Well, it made me meet you, so I for one will not complain.”

“Me either,” Hien turns his head to kiss me, cupping my chin in his hand, “but come now, let us get some rest. Tomorrow you have to show me _everything_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're finally in Kugane! Now the real adventure begins!


	3. In which we meet a reluctant Sekiseigumi

Unsurprisingly, Hien wakes up at first lights, just as he did on the Azim Steppe. I try to bring him back to bed, but he won’t have any of it and bats at my hands playfully. “Get up, you lazy lie-abed! There will be time for sleeping later, when we don’t have a city to explore!”

I groan, propping myself groggily on my elbows. “Says you. If the last few years are any indication, _later_ will likely feature gods, primals, monsters, elaborate tales of betrayal, and not any rest at all.”

“All the more reason to have the fun while we can. Come on now!”

He pushes at me until I half-fall, half-stumble off the bed. Utterly defeated, I greet the morning with a yawn and start my morning stretching. 

Halfway through the motions, I notice Hien sitting on a pillow and staring intently at me. “What?”

“Nothing. I merely like looking at you, and the way your muscles move.”

“Flatterer. But do not think that will get _you_ out of exercising, my sweet Sora. You kick me out of bed, you get the full workout as well!”

All our muscles pulled and all our joints popped, we treat ourselves to a hearty morning meal of steamed rice, miso soup, and grilled fish, and then make ready to face the day.

Hien’s loose schedule for our trip has only a few essential points on it and no hurry to tick them off, so we spend the first morning taking a leisurely stroll around town, attuning Hien to all the Aetheryte nodes and simply taking in the sights. A few people stop me to say hello, mostly merchants or townsfolk I helped with some task, and I introduce to them my Doman companion; their polite but cursory replies seem to confirm that Hien’s disguise is working… or merely that none of them knows what the Lord of Doma looks like.

In the afternoon we pay a visit to Hancock at the Ruby Bazaar. 

Once behind closed doors, Hien lets the adventurer mask fall and thanks the man, as representative of the East Aldenard Trading Company, for their support of the Scions in the liberation of Doma.

“Think nothing of it,” Hancock replies graciously, “As I said before to our common friends, my Lord Lolorito did not support the endeavor merely out of the goodness of his heart: the freedom of Doma and Ala Mhigo provides the Company with several new and enticing trading opportunities with your emerging markets! Of course, in a just world, liberating people from Garlean occupation should be its own reward - but alas, this one still revolves around money and profit.”

“I have heard similar words before, regarding a certain Sultana and trade agreements with Ala Mhigo,” Hien replies, making Hancock’s eyes flash with approval.

“Ah, I see your lordship is keeping apprised of the movements on the global market! I would of course be honored to broker a similar trade with Doma, if you had any similar precious resource you wanted to share with the world…”

Hien crosses his arms, his lips curving in a knowing smirk, “Unfortunately, as you likely know, Doma does not possess overabundant amounts of salt, nor other natural resources that cannot be more easily found abroad. Our strength lies in our handicraftsmanship… or it will once more when the Enclave has been properly rebuilt. Swords, armor, furniture, paper: those were our main exports before the occupation.”

The blond trader is openly grinning now. “Doman paper was indeed legendary in its heyday! Reams of immaculate sheets still turn up on the marketplace or the auctions every once in a while, and they can fetch up to a king’s ransom depending on the quality. If you were to restart your paper mills…”

Hien laughs, the conversation clearly going the way he was expecting to, “You’ll be the first to know. And since you are such good friends, I’m sure you won’t mind haggling with Alphinaud over the specifics of the contract.”

Hancock returns the laughter.

With the informal agreement sealed, we take our leave from the Ruby Bazaar and rest by its entrance, deciding on our next move. 

“If you’re serious about rebuilding the consulate, we should scout the neighborhood for available plots or buildings, since this is the only quarter of the town where _ijin_ are allowed to reside.”

Hien nods, thinking. “I am. I had irrationally hoped to postpone this as long as possible, since it involves coming into full view of the Garlean consulate, but-”

His musings are rudely interrupted by someone bumping into him. The man stumbles after the collision but keeps on running, turning his head back not to utter an apology but to look in terror at the street behind us. A moment later I understand why: a Sekiseigumi is on the hunt. 

Well, on the hobble. The peacekeeper, a big-boned young Elezen with blue-grey skin, rounded features, and dark blue hair, is panting through the chase, losing speed every few steps. “Halt! Thief!” he gasps between ragged breaths. Eventually has to stop not far away from us, bent down with his hands on his knees and hyperventilating. 

A second Sekiseigumi turns the corner and curses when he sees his colleague, picking up the pace. “Dammit, boy, you don’t rest until  _ after  _ you’ve caught the thief! Get moving!”

Hien, kind as always, closes the distance between us and the bent-down man. “Are you all right? Do you need help?”

“This is official Sekiseigumi business, stranger. I suggest you do not get in our way,” the second guardsman says as he reaches us. The older man, a Hyur sporting a long ponytail and an egregious bushy moustache, grabs the younger by the neck of his kimono and roughly tugs him forward. “Stop being such a wimp, Murenogi! You’ll never become a samurai at this rate.”

The young Sekiseigumi whimpers, but sets on the run again as best as he can.

Hien scowls, and I grab his arm in warning before he can say something. “Let us leave the guardsmen to their duty, Sora. They know what they’re doing.” 

The young lord’s furious gaze transfers on me, but he hesitates when he sees the look on my face and the short shake of my head. So he waits until the two peacekeepers are out of sight to grumble his disappointment. 

“That poor boy does not have the stamina for such a chase. He is likely bound to collapse on the road than to catch their quarry.”

“That may be,” I say, “but I’m not altogether convinced that the thief is deserving of their sort of justice.”

After another inquisitive gaze, I explain: “The Sekiseigumi are known for their swift and dubious rulings when it comes to foreigners. Even minor offences are punished with exile or death, the latter more likely than the former. And judging by his clothes, the thief didn’t seem to be from round these parts.”

“By the kami! I’d heard they were heavy-handed, but I had no idea…” Hien brings a hand to his lips, troubled. “Death is hardly a fitting punishment for thievery. Or for trying to lend a hand - for we are _ijin_ as well, regardless of how close my land is to Hingashi.”

“Indeed. Besides,” I smirk, “he ran in the direction of the first pier. I think we can get ahead of him if we use the aethernet nodes.”

Hien flashes that wicked grin of his and slaps me in the arm. “Then why are we wasting time standing here? Let’s go!”

If I were looking to hide at the piers, I would probably try for one of the small warehouses. Warehouse two and five, in particular, seem to always have their doors open during the day, with porters coming to and fro to load and unload their wares. Someone could easily sneak in. Someone like us, for example. 

It is there, hidden at the back of Warehouse Five, that we find our thief, cowering in fear and holding a bamboo basket close to his chest. He whines when he sees us, but I put a finger to my lips and we huddle at his side. 

“We’re friends,” Hien whispers, barely audible, “Would you mind telling us what happened?”

“I- I-“ the man has a couple false starts, then gulps and collects himself enough to answer, “I was so hungry. I saw the steamed buns there, and the seller’s back was turned, and I-” 

I nod to myself, slowly. I have been lucky enough to never experience hunger and desperation for myself, but I have seen enough poor people in Ul’dah and Little Ala Mhigo to recognize the signs. “You seem Eorzean. Did you get stranded here in Kugane?”

“I- yes. I was a blacksmith in Ul’dah, see-” Ah, there it is. “-but I went through a rough patch when my kid got sick, and I got into some debt, and when I couldn’t repay it… they took everything. I couldn’t find anyone else to hire me. Too old to be an apprentice, not good enough to be a master. Then rumors started coming of job opportunities in Kugane, with all the adventurers in Eorzea coming over here in search of fortune. I begged a merchant for passage on his ship, but when I arrived here I found that it was even worse than back home, and no one would hire a foreigner, and I had no money to buy a passage home, and-” 

I stopped him there, pressing a handful of gil in his hand. “Here. Get yourself a room at the Bokairo and don’t come out for any reason. Order something to eat while you wait for us. Meanwhile, we’ll get the Sekiseigumi off your tail.”

The man seems to be on the verge of weeping. “I cannot- thanks, oh, thanks, may the gods always smile on you, strangers. I don’t know why you’re helping me, but you must be among the saints.”

“We’re just men like you,” Hien smiles, then points to the basket of cooling buns, “Say, have you further need for that? I have an idea.”

“He must be here somewhere! If you hadn’t slowed us down-”

“I said I’m sorry, alright? I’m a long-distance runner! I’m not made for sprinting!” 

I can hear the two Sekiseigumi arguing outside the warehouse, which means it’s time to enact our plan. I bang on a few crates loud enough to attract their attention, and the older samurai strides inside, looking for the source of the noise. “Ah-ha! Oh. You again,” the disappointment in his voice swiftly turns to suspicion, “What are you doing in this warehouse?”

I greet him with a little wave of my fingers, smiling. “Oh, hello! I’m looking for a puissant porter - Hyuran, short, dark hair, brown eyes. Have you seen him around?”

“A puissant… I have no time for jokes, _ijin_. That description fits half the sailors in Kugane,” he growls, pointing a finger at my chest, “This is the second time that you cross my path while I’m hunting this thief. If I find that you have anything to do with him-”

“Hey, it’s the adventurer!” Luck seems to be on my side, for my porter acquaintance comes into the warehouse just at that moment, carrying a large sack of rice. “Pardon me, sir, if you could just move to the left- ah, perfect!” He stacks his load on top of a pile of other sacks, then pats his hands together to get the dust off. “I have to thank you again for procuring that poultice for me: my shoulder is as good as ever! Work has been so good that I’ve been able to take a day off, and take that girl I was telling you about out on a date.” 

He pumps his arms and rotates his shoulder a few times, to demonstrate his renewed prowess. I smile, quickly rifling through my mental archive to try and remember what he’d told me about that girl. After the billionth person that asks you for a favor, they tend to blend all together... 

“Oh, right,” I say, as the memories finally click back into place, “the one you wanted to open a tavern with, eh? Are you any close to reaching your dream?”

Whatever the porter was about to say is rudely interrupted by the Sekiseigumi, clearly annoyed by the whole exchange. “I take it that you know this foreigner, then? Would you vouch that he’s not a thief?”

The porter seems surprised, and not just a little scared. “A thief? Hold on now, I don’t know anything about that! He just procured a poultice for my shoulder a few months ago. But I heard the other dock workers talk about him and he seems to be a good sort, always ready to help.”

As the lad talks, I spot the other guard still standing in the middle of the pier and looking straight in the direction of the aethernet shard. Shite. That’s not good. I try to think of a way to distract him when he turns of his own volition and starts whistling rather conspicuously.

“Murenogi!” the moustached guard cries, his attention caught by the sound, “Stop making a spectacle of yourself and come over here.”

“Ugh. Fine!” The young man sighs theatrically and drags his feet to the warehouse. The moment he crosses the threshold there’s the unmistakable sound of an activating aetheryte node, and I do my best not to exhale in relief.

“Is there anything else you wanted of me, sir?” I ask, trying not to sound too eager.

“Hmpf,” the older Sekiseigumi - who I nicknamed Moustache in my head - turns back to me, crossing his arms, “You’re off the hook… for now. But I’m going to keep my eye on you, stranger.”

As they leave the warehouse, the one called Murenogi pulls on Moustache’s sleeve and points at the base of the aetheryte node. “Stepfather, look! By the shard!”

“What now? And I told you not to call me that when we’re at work- oh, damnation!” The guard strides to the shard, and the porter and I follow out of curiosity. Well, I know what they’re going to find: an abandoned bamboo basket on the floor, next to the spinning crystal node. What I’m curious about is their reaction.

“The thief must have teleported away,” Moustache says, picking up the basket, “He could be anywhere in town by now… At least he left here his prize - wait, what’s that?” Opening the lid, the man finds that the delicious  _ baozi _ are missing, and in their place there are a handful of gil. “Is this some kind of joke?!”

“I wonder, stepfa- _lieutenant_ ,” the boy corrects himself, “Foreigners have different customs than we do. Could it be that the man intended to pay for his meal _after_ eating it, in the fashion of his country?” 

“Hmpf. Even if this theory of yours were true, why did he run away then?”

“It’s a known rumor,” I offer, going out on a limb, “that the Sekiseigumi will fell _ijin_ on the spot for the most minor of offenses. I’d wager that would make most of them run away in fear at your sight.”

Moustache turns to favor me with a glacial stare. “Sekiseigumi justice is no more and no less than criminals deserve, whether they be Hingan or _ijin_. Although,” he adds, relenting, “there was that bad affair with the merchant a few years ago… Bah!” he slams the bamboo lid shut as if it has personally offended him, “Since he paid for the buns, however late, I decree that there is no need for further punishment, and we can let the _ijin_ go with a warning. Of course, telling him in person would have been better, but someone had to go and lose him.”

Murenogi lowers his head and rubs his left arm, clearly used to this sort of verbal abuse, and Moustache frowns: “I swear, boy, sometimes it’s like you don’t even _want_ to be a Sekiseigumi.”

The boy mutters something that Moustache doesn’t seem to understand, or simply decides to ignore. He presses the bamboo basket in his hands and sighs: “Murenogi, go and return this and the money to Kurogai. I’ll head back to the barracks and try to explain the situation to the captain. Honest mistake or not, foreigners always end up making a mess of things…”

Murenogi nods, muttering something else under his breath, and this time I’m sure he must be speaking some foreign language - truly foreign, not Hingan - because I understand it and his stepfather doesn’t.  _“Foreigners like me, you mean?”_

The porter waits until both guards are gone then scratches his head, befuddled by the whole affair. “Well, that was unusual. Does this sort of thing happen often in the life of an adventurer?”

“All too often. Even more if there’s an agent of inquiry around…”

“I’ll stick to my life as a porter, in that case,” he laughs, “And on that note, I’d better go back to the ship before they start wondering where I’ve gone off to. There’s still a lot of rice to unload.”

We trade goodbyes, and a minute later Hien emerges from his hiding spot in the other warehouse. “By the kami, I thought that the Elezen boy would never turn his back on us. I was almost ready to go out and drop the basket myself.”

“You know, I almost suspect that he looked away on purpose.”

“Is that so? In that case I thank him for being more sympathetic than his partner,” Hien pats my arm gently, “Well, I think we’d better reach our new friend at the inn… assuming he’s even there. I told him to wait there for us, but I wouldn’t blame him if he used your money to jump on the first available ship out of here.”

“Can we make a quick stop at the Hostelry first? All this talk of food has made me quite peckish.”

Hien shakes his head and chuckles. “You’re incorrigible. All right, a very quick trip. And the kami help me if you order dango…”

The blacksmith, true to his word or maybe simply rooted in place by fear of the Sekiseigumi, is waiting for us patiently at the inn when we return. Berthelm - for that is his name, we find out - thanks us again for the rescue while slowly sipping on the broth of a large bowl of noodles and assorted vegetables. “I have been so hungry. And tired. I know the guards here offer only swift justice, but when I saw those plump steamed buns I was ready to take that chance. I don’t think I could have survived much longer without food and shelter.”

He has taken a bath before his supper, likely at the suggestion of Ushitora at the reception, which makes him look more the part of the respectable Ul’dahn despite his begrimed clothes. 

“What are your plans after leaving Kugane,” Hien asks him, going straight to the point, “Do you wish to go back to your home and family?”

The smith stops eating, uncertain. “I would love nothing more than to see my wife and child again, but if I were to return without money and without a job, I would be in the same rub as when I left. Worse, even, for I squandered the last of our savings looking for work in this accursed city. Ah, no offense, sir-”

“None taken,” Hien smirks, “despite appearances, I am just as foreigner here as you are.”

Berthelm narrows his eyes at that, perhaps considering for the first time that the East is not some kind of monolith, but is home to as many different nations and cultures as Eorzea. 

“Anyway, any ship to Eorzea would likely land in Limsa Lominsa. They do not have a blacksmith guild there so, perhaps, even someone like me would be able to find work under a different master.”

“Why not open your own shop?”

He offers us a rueful smile. “I mean this with no offense, kind sirs, but the coin you have given me is nowhere near enough to pay for a shop front, and a forge, and the tools, and the materials required to open a competitive smithy. And even if you could gift me that sort of money, I could not accept it in good conscience. I can swallow my pride and accept food and a ticket home, but anything more than that would just be taking advantage of your good heart.”

Hien nods, furrowing his brow in that sort of scowl which precedes one of his unconventional ideas. “I see. But tell me, would you accept expertise in lieu of money, at the price of a delayed return to your own home?”

“I’m… not exactly sure what you mean, sir?”

Hien sits straighter, subtly shifting back into the role of the Lord of Doma, and just as subtly I tug at the end of his jacket, warning him not to overdo it and blow his cover. He gives me a short incline of his head in understanding, before replying to the smith. “The nation of Doma has recently freed itself from Garlean occupation, and it has a dire need of skilled workers ready to put their efforts into the reconstruction. If you reach the Doman Enclave and present yourself to a man called Tsuranuki, I am sure that he will be more than glad to have an extra pair of hands at his disposal. I cannot guarantee that it will be a lucrative job, but it will afford you to learn Doman crafts and techniques from one of their masters… skills that would make you _competitive_ again should you choose to return to Eorzea.”

Berthelm looks at Hien with his mouth agape, as if he had just said that the smith could single-handedly slay a dragon. “Me, in Doma? That’s the country beyond the pirate-infested seas, right? I don’t know if I could… but then, I’ve already come this far. Why not? What do I have to lose? And if it works out, I can return to my family with my head high…”

“That’s the spirit! I will pen a letter of presentation you can show at the Enclave: I commissioned some equipment from the old man, and he will remember my name.” 

I fail to suppress a smirk. While not a lie, it doesn’t quite convey that said ‘equipment’ was weapons and armor for a whole village, ready to fight for freedom in Hien’s name. 

The blacksmith fights off some tears, then bows deeply and thumps his chest. “I won’t make you regret all the help you’re giving me, I promise you! I may not be the best artisan in Eorzea, but I will do my damn best to earn my keep!”

Hien gives a single nod. “That is all I ask.”


	4. In which our heroes take a night-time dip

The next two suns pass in a whirlwind. Hien is like a kid in a toy shop, exploring every nook and cranny of Kugane like it could contain hidden treasures. We try every food at the Shiokaze, we admire the wares at the Kogane Dori, we soak ourselves in the hot springs, we watch a kabuki show at the Mujikoza theatre… 

It’s good, and odd, to be able to hold his hand in public during the day without anyone batting an eye, to kiss him and squeeze him and grin foolishly at him without having to worry about anyone seeing us. Sure, we get the occasional side eye for being a mixed couple, but those I can ignore easily. Just chalk it up to eccentric foreigners being eccentric. 

And the nights, oh, the nights… in the nights we are loud.

Two suns is also the time it takes Hancock to find a trader headed for Doma, and willing to accompany Berthelm as far as Namai. On the evening of the third day we dress the blacksmith in an inconspicuous merchant’s haori, Hien checking several times that his letter of introduction is safely tucked in the inner pocket of the man’s garments, and smuggle him out of the Bokairo and down to the docks, where a Hingan skiff is waiting to ferry him and his escort across the Ruby Sea. 

I suppose we’re all waiting for the Sekiseigumi to turn up for a last-minute arrest, as our goodbyes are tense and rushed, and Hien and I let out our breaths in relief only when the boat is merely a dot on the horizon.

“Well,” I say, “I think we deserve a small reward after that.”

“Should I presume it involves a visit to the Shiokaze?” Hien smirks, and I give him a playful shove.

“It’s not _all_ about food with me. If you prefer, we could look for a show or a tea house in the Sanjo Hanamachi-”

“Hmm. After our dealings with Yotsuyu, it will be some time before I can sit comfortably in an _okiya_ again.”

“Again?” I ask with a quirk of a brow, and it’s Hien’s turn to shove me.

“Merely for the company and the entertainment, I will have you know. Besides, unlike you,” he flashes me a mischievous smile as he grabs my hand and leads me away from the pier, “I never said that I only like _men_.”

My mouth remains wide open all the way to the Hostelry.

* * *

“I know why I helped Berthelm,” I murmur in Hien’s ear as he snuggles into me, “Helping strangers is my whole thing. But what made you so invested in this particular case?”

We returned to our rooms late at night with the full intention to sleep off our substantial dinner and slightly less substantial inebriation, but a few lazy kisses and cuddles before sleep turned into not-so-lazy making out and then, inevitably, into a long session of vigorous lovemaking. Spent and sweaty and satisfied, we drift in and out of sleep, his back pressing against my chest with every breath.

For a minute I think he has not heard my question, or he has fallen again into the arms of slumber, but then he stirs gently in my arms and opens one eye like a lounging cat. “Why indeed. Perhaps because I have been in his place: far from home, far from anyone who was dear to me, possessing only my sword and the clothes on my back… I would not have survived if not for the generosity of others, like Cirina and the Mol… as well as the help of friends found in the most unexpected ways.” He turns his head to smile at me and I lean to kiss the corner of his mouth. 

“‘Tis true,” I say, my lips moving down to his chin and his neck, “ours was a most fortuitous meeting, in every sense of the word. If Yugiri had not landed in Vesper Bay, if the Alliance had not pressed into Ala Mhigo, then I might never have come to Othard-“ 

“-and my country would likely still suffer under Yotsuyu’s boot, with my head exposed on a pike for all to see… assuming I wasn’t felled trying to win the Naadam.”

“Such a pretty picture you paint. But I like to believe you would have prevailed nonetheless: you are stronger than you give yourself credit for.” I punctuate my statement with a nip at his shoulder, and he shivers under my mouth.

“I admire -ah- your faith in me, my love, but it took all of us to win those battles. Oh sweet kami,” he hisses through his teeth as I suck on the exposed skin near his battle scar, “and here I thought we were having a conversation.”

“I can talk to you and make you undone at the same time. If you can’t keep up-”

With feline agility he slips out of my embrace and grabs for my nethers, making me yelp. “You use strong words, but the flesh is limp… perhaps you need time to recover after our last exertion?”

“You evil-”

He flops heavily onto me, taking the breath out of my lungs. “To conclude that thought,” he goes on, smirking, “I helped Berthelm because the kami have bestowed me with the greatest fortune and the greatest gift, and so it is only right that I share some of that fortune in return.” 

He presses his lips to mine, and all I can think of is that the gods have blessed _me_ with the greatest gift, in the shape of a man so perfect it makes my heart ache. 

“Besides, how could I let you down?“ he says, breaking the kiss way too soon for my tastes, “Knowing that you would do anything to help this man, how could I do any less and yet deem myself worthy of you?”

Lost as I am in his eyes, poor excuse for a bard that I am, I struggle to come up with a proper reply, so I fall on three simple words that barely convey the feelings I have for him. “I love you.”

His tongue pries my lips open once more and I lose myself in his taste, but the spell is broken as he squeezes between my legs again. 

“Hien!”

“Will you look at that,” the self-satisfied smirk on his face is a sight to behold, “it looks like my speech has been motivational. Shall we have another go?“

“All you had to do was ask. Huh,” my hands stop halfway up his thighs and I whisper, “do you hear that? Outside?”

Hien furrows his brows in concentration, sifting through the background noise for anything out of the ordinary. “Voices. Beyond our window, it seems.”

Wordlessly, we reach for our clothes and weapons. No time to don armor, but if this is the prelude to an ambush, at least we won’t be caught in the buff. 

Tip-toeing across the room, we position ourselves at the opposite ends of the round window. 

“Come on,” a voice says, whispering roughly, “the whole inn is going to hear us at this rate!”

“Right,” a second voice answers, “just give me a second. Three, two, one-”

I give a curt nod and Hien slides the window sash open, thrusting his sword outside- 

-only to stop at the scene unfolding in front of him.

A curly-haired Hyuran girl is standing on the tip of her toes on one of the wooden beams protruding from the building of the Bokairo, her hands gripping a stronger arm that disappears over the roof of our balcony. She yelps at the sight of Hien and one of her feet slips, putting her in a very precarious position. “Pull me up pull me up pull me up-” she whispers loudly to her associate, who grunts from effort in reply.

“Stop milling about! You’re gonna make me fall!”

“Well, _I’m_ about to fall!”

It’s at this point that we take pity on the two, and Hien and I move in tandem to help steady the girl. “Here, here,” I say in a low, conspiratorial tone, “we got you.”

“Thanks. I- whoo,” she exhales, with a nervous half-laugh, “I feel dizzy. Uhm, I know this looks weird, but may I sit on your balcony for a moment? Just until I get my bearings back?”

“Our balcony is your balcony,” Hien says gallantly, offering her a hand and a shoulder to steady on as she jumps from the beam to the balcony. 

“Is your friend going to join us?” I ask, thumping the end of my bow against the roof. 

“Come on down, Mugi!” the girl says, leaning over the parapet as if she didn’t have vertigo only a moment ago, “I’m afraid the game is up for tonight.”

There’s a moment’s pause, then a round face with pointy ears leans out from the roof above. A face that, despite being silhouetted in the dark, looks suspiciously familiar. “I can’t!” he says, “We were supposed to go down from the other side. I don’t know how to get down from here!”

“Wait,” I say, the voice and face finally clicking together in my memory, “you’re that Sekiseigumi kid! Murenugi? Murenogi?”

“Shh,” he hurries to shush me, putting a finger in front of his lips, “if my stepfather finds out we’re here, we’re dead! Well, _I’m_ dead. Yuko will probably just get detention until she’s, I don’t know, seventy.”

“And that’s in the best of cases,” the girl nods, though not without a hint of amusement. She looks at me and Hien imploringly. “Well, since you already know my brother, do you think you can help us?”

“And how _do_ you know me, anyway?” Murenogi leans over the edge again, squinting to get a good look at us in the moonlight.

“This afternoon? The pier? You let that steam bun burglar go?”

“Mugi!” his sister cries in surprise, “You told Kanba that it was an accident!”

“Of course I told him it was an accident- wait, you’re the _ijin_ in the warehouse- oh, Genbu’s beard, the people on this floor are waking up!” Murenogi turns to look at the rooms on his floor, and the sudden move almost costs him his grip on the roof. “I’m going to try to get down. If I die, tell everyone I was very brave.”

“Very reckless, I’d say,” his sister sighs. 

“Same thing!” 

Murenogi’s legs appear from over the roof, dangling and trying to find the right way to jump back on the support beam. It’s a bad angle for a descent, with the roof cutting off visibility, but the young man seems to manage the jump down… until he doesn’t. His foot slips on the very same spot as his sister’s did earlier, and it takes all three of us to pull him to safety before a fatal drop. We fall into a messy tangle on the balcony and, despite the near-death experience, or perhaps because of it, the boy is giggling like a madman. 

“That’s enough excitement for the next half a bell,” I say, pushing myself to my feet and dragging the boy off of Hien. The echoes of lanterns light the edge of the roof, and sleepy voices from above ask in slurred tones what was causing all that commotion. “Let’s all get inside until things get calm.”

A few minutes later we’re all seated around the irori, water heating on a kettle hanging from the hook on the ceiling. 

“Sorry we can only offer you some late night tea,” Hien says, treating the siblings as if they were foreign dignitaries and with only the faintest amusement in his voice, “We weren’t exactly expecting guests.”

“Tea is fine,” Murenogi joins his hands in front of him and bows to us in a very non-Hingan gesture, “I’m just thankful that you saved me from that fall. And that you didn’t call the Sekiseigumi.”

“Wouldn’t that have been redundant?”

“He’s just a trainee,” his sister answers for him, “If they caught him doing something like this, he could get kicked out.”

“Then why do it?” Hien asks, cocking his head.

“Because it’s fun!” the young man says, flashing a brilliant, enthusiastic smile, “And most of the other guardsmen wouldn’t know fun if it hit them in the _hakama_.”

“Also,” the girl adds, ”they say there’s two large vats full of spring water on the roof. We thought we would go and check if that rumor is true. An adventure of sorts, while I’m in town.”

“So… Yuko, right? You don’t live here in Kugane?”

“Yes and no. My mother and I live beyond the gates, where the _ijin_ are not allowed. Mugi used to live with us before he enlisted, but I scarcely see him now. Instead I get to see Kanba all the time which is, like, the worst.”

“Hold up,” I say, raising a hand, “Let’s backtrack a little. Who’s Kanba? And I heard you say you’re siblings, but forgive me…”

I trail off, looking from one to the other in the light of the lanterns. The girl is a thin Hyur, of average height, with a sharp chin, rose beige skin not unlike Hien’s, and curly dark brown hair. The boy, on the other hand… with his seafog skin, pointy ears, and royal blue hair, one would almost think him a Duskwight Elezen, but his large frame and soft, round face speak of a different ancestry. Roegadyn? Hyuran?

Yuko lowers her gaze demurely, but Murenogi keeps his eyes locked on me and Hien, proud, and unwavering, and… inquisitive? Not unexpected, given his profession, but still interesting.

“I suppose we’d better start from the beginning,” Yuko says, smiling eyes rising to meet mine though her face is still pointing downward, “Our mother is Hingan, born here in Shishu. Our father, on the other hand, was an Elezen - a travelling scholar from Sharlayan.”

“They met at the markets, in the merchant shop she was working at,” her brother continues, “To hear them say it, they started arguing over the glazing style on a particular vase and they hit it off immediately.”

“Unfortunately, Hingashi isn’t kind to foreigners, nor to people marrying outside their caste, or their kind. A merchant and a foreign mage, Hyur and Elezen, they were the subject of much ridicule…”

“...especially after I was born.” The young man clouds, his proud, adventurous mood all but gone. “No one really expected them to have children. They all said it was rare, or impossible, but, heh, I guess a wizard and scholar took that as a dare, for eventually they did. Although, as you can see, I came out all sorts of wrong.” 

“Mugi!” Yuko snaps at her brother, “I won’t hear any of that from you! You’re perfect as it is!”

Murenogi rubs a spot at the back of his head, smiling ruefully. “Fine, fine… But that’s not what the local population thinks. I don’t look properly Hyuran, and I don’t look properly Elezen. I’m something else, and that doesn’t fly in a nation that is all about putting people in the proper boxes. Yuko, though. She was born five years after me, and _she’s_ perfect.”

“Oh, shut it!”

I glimpse a look at Hien and see my same smirk reflected on his face, as we follow the siblingly barter spattered with youthly lingo. “For what it’s worth,” I say, “you both look entirely fine to me. But where does Moustache come into all this?”

“Moustache? Oh,” Murenogi laughs, slapping his hip in a gesture altogether too familiar, “you mean Kanba! I like that moniker!” His timbre returns somber as he continues. “Our father died only two years after Yuko was born. Heart failure. Nothing that could have been done. Mother didn’t even have time to grieve: with two small children and two aging parents to care for, she threw herself fully into work and house care, with nary a minute for her own happiness… until Kanba came along.” 

“They met pretty much the same way,” Yuko said, pretending to gag at the thought, “He was buying provision for the barracks at her store, and he made a joke, and she laughed, and then they started seeing each other pretty much every day he was off duty.”

“And now we’re drowning in jokes.” 

“And puns.” 

“So, so many puns.”

I turn to Hien and give him a preemptive scowl, to which he just laughs at. “What? I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Yuko and Murenogi trade a look, likely pondering whether to acknowledge or ignore our exchange, then go for the latter. “Anyway, they married after he was promoted to lieutenant, and now Kanba keeps saying that I have a _unique_ chance to raise the _standing_ of our family, and it’s basically my _duty_ to enlist and learn the way of the warrior,” a few of the words are accompanied by hand gestures and eye rolls, “and it’s not like I was ever going to apply my previous studies, so I might as well do something _useful_ with my life.”

“Why,” Hien asks him, “what sort of thing were you studying?”

“Water’s boiling!” Yuko says brightly, and a little too fast, “Do you need help with the tea, my lord… oh, I’m afraid I didn’t get your name.”

“Sora, and I’m no lord, just a simple samurai,” Hien says, sticking to his made-up persona, “and this here is Caranraw.”

“Call me Caran,” I say, thumping my chest.

“And I’m Muren _o_ gi,” the young man replies, correcting me on the vowel, “but all of my friends call me Mugi, because of my drink of preference. You saved my life, so I say you qualify.”

Hien laughs and I frown, looking at him for explanation. 

“Right, you wouldn’t know. Mugi means ‘barley’ in Hingan.”

“Ah, I see. Fond of beer, are you?”

Mugi nods. “I prefer it to rice wine, to be honest. Another thing that doesn’t win me the sympathy of the old and stuffy.”

“That’s what he says these days, but he got the nickname as a kid,” Yuko leans in to mock-whisper, “when he would drink nothing but barley tea!”

“Yuko! I’m trying to keep up a reputation here!”

We all burst out laughing and, after a moment, Mugi joins in as well. 

After tea is served and sipped, we take stock of the silence that has once again shrouded the night, and a mischievous grin spreads on the young man’s face. “It looks like everyone has gone back to sleep, so… should we have another stab at that late-night dip?”

Yuko frowns, uncertain. “Mugi…”

“You should join us!” Mugi says, turning in our direction, “No offense but, uh, it smells a bit funky in here.”

Hien and I trade glances, realizing that we’re still just covered by our day-old clothes over a thin layer of sweat and dried-up semen. We have hastily thrown a blanket over the bedsheets after letting the siblings into our room, but they would be a similar, funky mess underneath.

“We were…”

“Training.”

“Sparring.”

“That’s why we had our weapons handy when we heard you outside the window.”

“Exactly.”

Yuko tilts her head, seemingly confused by this exchange, while Mugi, one step at her back, is covering his mouth with both hands and trying to stifle a laugh.

“Right,” I say, clapping my hands, “onward to the rooftop!”

What I _meant_ was to go and find the stairway that led to the top of the building. What Mugi and Hien heard was a climbing competition.

“I see what you were trying to do,” the samurai says, examining the outer structure of the building as seen from our balcony, “but that beam doesn’t extend quite far enough for your sister to get a proper grip on the roof. Let’s try…”

He trails off, climbing over the parapet and steadying himself against a column, then he grips one of the wooden decorations above, tugging at it a few times to test its resistance. Satisfied, he hoists himself up in a fluid, feline motion, then extends a hand to pull us upwards. Yuko accepts the help, while Mugi makes a show of climbing up on his own, though not without a few struggles. 

I, weighing close to three hundred ponzes and not being blessed with flight, prefer not risking my neck and let myself be pulled up by the two men.

The next few jumps are thankfully simpler, a mere matter of moving from roof to roof until we reach the very top where the two gigantic vats are, indeed, full of lightly steaming water, reflecting the light from the moon above.

“I’m going to take this one,” Yuko says, pointing to the vat on the right, “while you boys can take the other one. And no peeking while I’m changing!”

“Peek at what?” Mugi smirks, “You’re wearing the bathing costume that mother bought you under that kimono. It’s so chaste that it leaves _everything_ to the imagination!”

She scowls and holds the folds of her dress closer together. “No. Peeking.”

We dutifully turn and strip to our undergarments, Hien and I folding our clothes properly, while Mugi just hops out of them and leaves them where they’re falling. 

“For a soldier trainee he’s definitely lacking in any sort of discipline,” Hien whispers, and I nod.

“Well, it’s obviously a private matter that he doesn’t wish to discuss, and we should leave it well alone.”

Hien stares at me dumbfounded before I break into a smirk. “Oh, just joking. Of course I want to find out why.”

“You almost had me worried,” Hien laughs, then gives a playful slap to my arse, “Come on then, let’s go be inconsiderate busibodies!”

Mugi, oblivious to our conversation, has already dunked himself into the vat, only to quickly climb out muttering that it’s too hot, only to jump back in again because the night air is too cold. Smiling and shaking our heads we follow his lead, dipping slowly into the almost-scalding waters.

“Gods,” I sigh, the heat melting away grime and sweat and replacing them with a pleasant, numbing drowsiness, “there’s nothing better than a hot bath after-”

“Training,” Hien cuts in, eyes closed and leaning heavily against me.

“-training, yes.”

I wrap an arm around his shoulders and he makes a small, contented sound. Mugi, one arm draped over the rim of the tub, wags his eyebrows and smirks in our direction. “Uh huh. Training. That may fly with Yuko, but-” 

“Did you just say my name? What are you guys talking about? I can’t hear a thing from over here!” his sister shouts from the other vat, and he makes a hurried silencing motion.

“Shh! We don’t want to wake up the whole inn again! Especially when we’re mostly naked!”

“Well, I still can’t hear you!”

“Then join us in here!”

I can’t see Yuko blush from over here, but I do see her close her arms about herself and dip lower into the water. “Maybe later,” she says after a moment, and her brother groans.

“By the Twelve, she can be such a baby sometimes,” he mutters, low enough for her not to hear, “In the one country where men and women bathe together, we have to shout at each other from a distance…”

Hien opens one eye, lazily. “Calling on the gods of the Eorzeans. That is unusual in Hingashi.”

“It’s just a phrase.” Mugi’s answer, like his sister’s earlier, is too quick to come to be a casual dismissal.

“May it have something to do with those studies you mentioned before?” I ask, “Mayhaps… related to your Sharlayan father?”

All the mirth has gone out of Mugi’s face again. For a moment I wonder if we’ve made the wrong decision in bringing up the topic, but then he wades across the tub to sit next to us, hugging his knees against his chest. “…promise you won’t bring this up around Yuko? She thinks it’s a sore spot for me, which makes it a sore spot for her,” he turns for a moment to look at his sister, who is humming happily and splashing her feet at the rhythm of her tune, “and all I want to do is to make her happy. To give her the great life she deserves.”

“And don’t you deserve such a life as well?” Hien asks.

Mugi is silent for a moment, then he leans back against the vat and looks to the night sky. “I remember my father as a kind man. A little distracted, perhaps, busy as he was with his studies, or maybe that’s just how it looked to me as a kid. But gentle, and enthusiastic. Every night he would lull me to sleep with a story of the places he’d studied. Thaliak, the Four Lords, Gunnhildr, the Zodiac Braves… I didn’t care if it was legend or history, I wanted to hear everything there was to know about them. After he died, mother’s family wanted to sell all his books and tomes and scrolls, but,” he laughs, “she told me that I set myself in front of his study, brandishing a broom as if it were a katana, and threatening anyone who would come near. My grandparents were so impressed that they promised not to touch his belongings… at least for the time being. So I threw myself upon them, trying to read as many of them as I could in as little time as possible. I was seven. You can picture how well that went.” 

We all chuckle at the image, and he continues.

“Anyway, I was stubborn, so I kept on reading those books every day, in the hours before school and after helping out in the shop. I transcribed father’s notes from his journals, or as much as I could make out of his scribbling calligraphy. And I had only a basic knowledge of Sharlayan and Eorzean, so I pestered foreign travellers for translations until someone gifted me with a dictionary, either out of compassion or desperation. It was a _travel_ dictionary, but still better than nothing.”

“So back at the pier, when you called yourself a foreigner, were you speaking Sharlayan?”

Mugi’s eyes snap on me so quickly that I fear he’s giving himself whiplash. “You understood that? You speak Sharlayan? Are you-”

“I’m no Archon,” I say with a rueful shake of my head, “though I do know a few of them. I just have… let’s call it a gift for spoken languages. But sorry, I interrupted you.”

The young man’s enthusiasm dampens only mildly, my vague connection to his father’s homeland clearly more than enough to catch his interest. “You have to tell me _everything_ about them… But yes, as I was saying, I studied everything I could in the hopes one day of becoming a mage, and a scholar, and return triumphantly to Sharlayan with the fruits of our joint labour, mine and my father’s… but then…”

“The dream shattered?” Hien finishes for him, and Mugi nods.

“Despite the bullying at school, I had never really understood how harsh our reality was until then. My mother tried to hide it from me for as long as she could, but it was obviously clear to everyone else: merchants are at the bottom of the social ladder here in Hingashi, and the freaky half-breed son of a merchant and a foreign mage is at the bottom of the bottom rung. And to add insult to injury…” 

He looks at his open hands, laughing drily. “I can’t do magic. I studied all my life to be a mage, but my ability to manipulate aether is stunted. I can just about use an aetheryte, turn on a lamp, that sort of thing. But even the most simple of spells is outside my grasp. So, you see: with no sponsors, no rank, and no magic to speak of, I have no hopes of entering the hallowed halls of the scholarly guilds in Bukyo.”

There is a moment of heavy silence, broken when I reach to squeeze his shoulder in what I hope comes as a friendly and reassuring gesture. He jumps at the touch, but does not shy away. 

“I’m sorry, Mugi. I don’t know much of Hingan culture beyond what I can glimpse here in Kugane, but it should not have to be this way. Effort and dedication should at least be worth an honest chance.”

“Yes,” he says, gravely, “but if there is no chance for me, there is one for Yuko.”

He turns briefly to look at his sister, who waves in our direction, and he affects a wide grin as he waves in return. 

“Tell me,” he asks us, “Do you know why people join the Sekiseigumi?”

“Uh… I assume because they want to be part of a peacekeeping force? Either to defend their peers, or because they want to uphold the law, or because they enjoy having power over others. It’s usually one of those three.”

“Those are all correct, but in Hingashi there is one other reason: escaping your birth caste. Though not hereditary, a Sekiseigumi guard is nonetheless a samurai, and thus has a higher standing than merchants and peasants.” 

“Why are merchants so low in standing anyway?” I ask.

“Because they don’t make anything, but just sell things others have made. Craftsmen are slightly above because they make non-essential things. Then there’s peasants and rice farmers and all those who cover our primary needs, then the samurai and the military, and then, of course, magistrates and nobles.”

Hien clenches a fist, his gaze turning to steel. “Lords who hold themselves above their people, and keep them in cages based on their birth… I shouldn’t judge another nation’s customs, but-”

“Oh, judge away, I know I do! But no matter how much I whine and groan, this is the way of things,” Mugi chuckles, then turns to steal another look at his sister, “And that brings us to Yuko. She has only just started studying our father’s work, but she is smart, and she has magic, and most importantly she looks like a perfect daughter of Hingashi. Kanba says that, if I were to become a Sekiseigumi, her status would rise alongside mine, and then we could petition the magistrate to sponsor her into a guild. I know that I’m just a half-baked failure of a brother, but if I can do this for her, then I _have_ to.”

I frown. It’s the second time in as many minutes that Mugi reviled himself, and I wonder just how many insults the boy has swallowed down in his life, masking them behind his cheery and light-hearted attitude. 

‘Tis true, his blue skin stands out in the Hingan crowd, and a stocky Elezen would be unusual even in Eorzea, but he is far from horrendous. There is muscle underneath his belly, and his large arms hint at the strength of someone used to lugging weight around all day. His face, too, is round and soft like a Hyuran rather than the usual sharp beauty of the Elezen, and he has kind eyes, and a nice smile, and his sideburns and stubble give him a sort of roguish look… 

_Stop crushing on all the cute boys you meet,_ Alisaie’s voice admonishes me from inside my head, but that only brings me to wonder just how old Mugi actually is. His features look young for a Hyuran, but who can ever tell with the Elezen? Some grow to middle-age without a single line on their face, only to suddenly turn into wizened prunes. 

I clear my throat to cover the fact that I’ve been staring too long at the young man’s face, and catch the end tail of the question Hien’s asking him.

“-even if it means sacrificing your dream, and joining the ranks of a force you clearly don’t hold in much regard, given the way you speak of your stepfather?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I would love to be a samurai like the fabled Kogarashi! Roaming the land, felling bad guys left and right, whether they’re common crooks or great lords,” Mugi mimics sword motions, splashing water all around, “but all the Sekiseigumi do is patrol around town, talk of duty and honor, and harass foreigners who are, for the most part, just trying to make an honest living.”

“Don’t forget,” I add, “they also take care of people climbing roofs in the middle of night.”

“That too! And they have so, so many rules. And every small failure is treated like a mortal offense. And I have to sleep in the barracks while Kanba, as a married man, gets to go home each night! _My_ home!”

“So…” Hien tilts his head, “Shouldn’t you be at the barracks now? Won’t that get you in trouble?”

“Eh, it’s fine,” he waves a hand about, “Kanba won’t let Yuko run around by herself, so this is technically my duty for tonight. And if I’m late to return, the gatekeeper is… pliable to an offer of my special mochi.”

“Oh? Are you a culinarian as well?”

“Uhm… After a fashion,” Mugi lets out a nervous chortle, holding a hand behind his head, “Gods, why am I even telling you all this stuff about me? I only just met the two of you!”

I flash him a grin. “People like talking to me. I just have one of those faces.” It usually leads to being entrusted with solving one’s problems or taking care of elaborate fetch quests, but that’s besides the point.

Caught in that thought, I almost miss that Mugi’s eye is not trained on me, but on Hien. “Master Sora-”

“Just Sora, please.”

“-Sora, then. How long are you going to stay here in Kugane?

“Another ten days or so, I believe. Why,” Hien smiles, “are you planning to keep tabs on us?”

Mugi blushes at that, and I file it under _interesting_. 

“I-I just mean, you’re a samurai, and you,” he turns to me, “you are friends with the Archons. I have so many things I want to ask you! Can we meet again? Tomorrow morning? No, wait, I have training. Tomorrow night then? There’s a tavern- oh, but maybe you’re already busy and I’m-”

“Mugi. Mugi! Calm down,” I chuckle, “We can meet up tomorrow. Just come find us here at the Bokairo, and if we’re not here you can leave us a message, or we’ll leave one for you. Does that work for you?”

“Yes! Yes, thank you,” Mugi nods, pumping his fists in excitement, then he gets to his feet and shakes water off of him like some sort of shaggy dog, “I’d better go and keep Yuko company now. She’s probably fuming that I’m spending all our time together talking to some strangers I just met, but she’s just too darn _polite_ to say it.”

Hien chuckles, shooing him away with a playful motion. “Go, go be a good brother! We will still be here tomorrow.”

“Hmm,” the young man says, turning to smirk at us as he climbs out of the vat, “and what about the steamed bun pilferer? Will he still be here tomorrow?”

“Why, I have no possible way of knowing that,” I say, returning a grin, “but if I were him, I would have jumped on the first ship out of Kugane. Safer for his continued health and all that.”

“A wise choice. Now I bid you farewell, my good sirs! My princess awaits in another tub!”

Mugi runs the distance between the two baths, all the while lamenting about the chilly air on his skin, then jumps into the other vat, soaking his sister thoroughly. She laughs and shakes her head, as if she were used to this sort of behaviour, and then the two start talking and tittering in hushed notes.

We pretend not to look at them for a minute or two before huddling closer and having a private conversation of our own.

“Looks like you have a new admirer, my lord.”

“It must be a new experience for you, not being the one they’re fawning over,” Hien grins, flicking droplets at my nose.

“It’s only because of your long sword,” I laugh, regretting it when he splashes my face and I half-choke on water falling down my windpipe. 

He pats my back until I stop choking, half-bent on the water, and then I pull him down into the tub with me. We emerge giggling, and he falls comfortably into my arms. “What say we take this downstairs, my warrior, and leave our new friends to their devices?”

“I’d say it is an excellent idea!”

We bid the siblings goodnight and find our way to the rooftop access, concealed by a paper partition just below the vats. Thankfully there are clean towels in the room beyond, so we can dry off before donning our clothes again. Being spotted half-naked and dripping water all over the floor as we made our way back to our room would certainly cause a situation. 

“So,” Hien asks me, once we’re finally back in bed and unlikely to be disturbed by further climbing shenanigans, “now that they’re out of hearing range, what do you make of our new friends?”

“Mmh. Yuko seems an odd one, equal parts fear and eagerness. Would she really be climbing buildings if she didn’t have a brother to impress?”

“Huh. I rather got the idea that _he_ was trying to impress _her_. She clearly means a lot to him.”

“And him to her. In that regard, they remind me very much of a pair of twins I know.”

Hien chuckles, snuggling against me. “Perhaps. You know them better than I do. And what of Murenogi? His devotion to his sister is admirable, but…” 

“Well, he is certainly enthusiastic,” I laugh, “and his heart is in the right place. Can’t say the same for his head, though. He doesn’t seem the type who can follow orders or respect authority, let alone enforce it.”

“Indeed. He has already let a thief go, even if out of compassion.”

“And he’s a late-night roof climber. Capital crime, that one.”

Hien slaps my arm, then shifts so he can face me. “Perhaps we should, you know…”

“Meddle?”

“ _Help_ him. We have superior expertise in martial arts. And you’re captain of a squadron. Surely we could steer him in the right direction.”

“Which is? A career in the Sekiseigumi?” I ask, cocking my head on the pillow.

“That’s for him to decide. We can nudge his boat, but it’s for him to row it.”

“So. We meddle.”

“I am not going to use that word.”

“What if I make you?”

Hien props himself on an elbow, staring at me with a mischievous grin. “Oh, my love, I’d like to see you try.”

I grin, flexing my fingers and readying them to hit all his ticklish spots. “Your wish is my command.”


	5. In which Hien and Caranraw have tea and receive an assignment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some spoilers for the Eastern part of the Samurai quest chain.
> 
> Sorry for the late post but this chapter needed an inordinate amount of rewrites.

“So, what’s our next move?” I ask Hien as we leave the Bokairo, ready to face a new day.

“You’re asking me? Aren’t you far more experienced than I when it comes to-”

“Meddling?”

“ _Helping strangers_ ,“ he says, rolling his eyes, “Honestly, what is it with you and that word?”

“I like the sound of it, and it’s more accurate. Helping strangers can also be a _quest_ or a _fetch_. Meddling, instead, is the kind of situation where no one is explicitly asking you to help but you do it anyway.”

“I see,” he sighs, “I suppose this sort of thing happens often enough to you that you have to enact a classification. That said, I would go look for the merchant store where Murenogi’s mother is employed. They may live outside the gate, but if her foreigner husband first met her at the-”

The rest of Hien’s reasoning is drowned by the shouts of a familiar voice: “There they are! Guards, arrest them!”

Kanba’s moustache bounces on his lips as he runs the stairs to the inn, flanked by a half-dozen Sekiseigumi. The guards draw their katanas and make a circle around us, waiting for further instructions from their superior.

“And a good morning to you, lieutenant. May I know exactly what we are being arrested for?” 

I affect a serene smile, hoping that Hien catches my drift. The young lord, however, remains impassible and simply crosses his arms.

“You should know better than to mouth off to the Sekiseigumi, stranger.” Kanba gets up very close and personal to my face, and I’m disappointed that no one’s making a note of the fact that I did not move immediately to break his nose. After a moment he takes a step back and gestures to his subordinates. “You two, search the inn for our suspect. The rest of you, take their weapons and bring them to the barracks for interrogation. Perhaps a stint in prison will teach them proper respect.”

Hien hands his katana without hesitation. I take a moment more to part from my lutebow, as ‘second best’ is still in the range of ‘quite expensive’, and Kugane has already proven to be far too heavy on my purse when it comes to weapons. 

“May we at least inform our friend at the Ruby Bazaar that we won’t make it for lunch?” Hien asks in a striking moment of ingenuity, but the lieutenant shakes his head. 

“And send a message to your accomplices? I think not.” He makes another gesture and the guards sheathe their blades, then nudge us in the direction of the stairs. 

We walk through the Rakuza district with our Sekiseigumi escort, drawing the attention of many an eye. Hien’s and my composed countenance seem to surprise the onlookers, apparently unused to foreigners not being terrified of the peacekeepers, and I hear a few people whisper to each other wondering if we’re dignitaries rather than prisoners. 

Hien seems to have caught wind of a similar conversation for he flashes me a swift smirk. Oh, if they only knew.

The barracks are busy as usual, with guards coming and going in a bustle of red and white. 

In one corner of the yard, closed off on three sides by painted screens, a bunch of men and women are training in the art of the sword under the watchful eye of an instructor. I crane my neck to spot if Mugi is among them, but it doesn’t seem to be the case. Better this way, perhaps: I doubt he’d have the presence of mind to pretend not to recognize us.

The guards bring us to separate cells, and lieutenant Kanba seems annoyed that we seem to be taking the whole thing in sport. Granted, being imprisoned is less than ideal, but at least our head and intestines are still attached to our bodies, the pallet is relatively clean, and the piss bucket does not smell too much. And I can see Hien from my cell. As far as being locked up goes, this is positively luxurious. 

“You will wait here until we call you for interrogation,” Kanba says as he leaves, as if we had any choice at all.

A bell passes, then another, during which Hien and I trade small talk with each other until one of the other prisoners tells us to shut up, and then we strike up a conversation with him, and eventually end up promising that, if we get out, we’ll pass on word to his mother about his current whereabouts.

By the end of the fifth bell, after having played an endless number of triple triad matches with myself and, somehow, losing repeatedly, I am starting to get restless. Hien, instead, is sitting still and composed on his bench, a true picture of serenity. I suppose all that meditating under waterfalls or whatever it is that samurai do for training is paying off. 

After a whole eight hours, during which no one remembered to bring us any food or water, the door of the cell block opens and Kanba comes to retrieve us with two guards in tow. "Come. The captain wants to see you." 

I thought that the Sekiseigumi captain was a stern, bearded man, but the person waiting for us behind a plain desk overloaded with documents is a young woman with an artsy bang falling over the right side of her face. "Ah, here are our international men of mischief. Remind me again, lieutenant, what are they accused of?" 

Is she lightly mocking him, I wonder, or is she just playing the role of good guard in this interrogation? 

"These two men have crossed my path twice while we were chasing a thief-" 

"Ah, yes. And what did the thief steal again?" 

"A basket of _baozi_ , captain. Well, he did return the basket, if not the food. Alongside some Eorzean money." 

A smile creeps up the captain's lips. "Truly a hardened criminal. But you were saying?" 

Kanba clears his throat and continues. "A law-abiding citizen let us know that someone fitting the description of the thief was spotted at the Bokairo inn two days later. The selfsame inn where these two _ijin_ are residing."

"Foreigners lodging at the Bokairo. Imagine that," the captain says, scribbling something on a sheet of paper, then raises her eyes again, "Sorry, do go on." 

"These two foreigners were then spotted leaving the inn yesterday night while in the company of a third man dressed like a Yanxian merchant. Today we searched the inn from top to bottom, and there was no trace of either the thief nor the merchant!" 

What the lieutenant probably intended as the coup de grace of his argument seems to fall flat on the captain's ears, as the woman just blinks. In an attempt to pretend to be thorough, she turns to us and asks, "Do you two have anything to say regarding these… accusations?" 

I look at Hien and he signs for me to go first. "As I said to lieutenant Kanba, I was at the pier looking for an acquaintance of mine who works as a porter. The lieutenant himself met him at the warehouses. And when we crossed paths earlier, we had just finished visiting master Hancock of the East Aldenard Trading Company." Who will speak in our favor and let some bribes slip if necessary, I leave unsaid, though she seems to catch my drift.

"I see. And this merchant friend of yours?" 

"Currently in route for the east coast of Yanxia, I believe," Hien says, "if not already on the way to the Doman enclave."

The captain nods again. "Very well. It seems clear to me that this is just a case of too many coincidences. I think we can-" 

"How do you know my name?" 

Kanba interrupts the captain so abruptly than even she stares in surprise. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"How," the man repeats, "do you know my name? I did not tell you." 

Shite. Were it not for the sympathy I have for Mugi, and the fact that I'm the focus of his attention, I would actually admire the man's attention to detail. 

I shrug, affecting nonchalance. "I'm not sure. Perhaps your stepson used it?" 

Moustache keeps his eyes trained on me for a few more seconds and then sighs, shoulders slumping. "Yes, that's altogether too plausible. He did call me ‘stepfather’ in front of you, no matter how much I try to instill in him the need for proper respect to the chain of command…" 

The captain puts her palms down on the desk, clearly wanting nothing more than for this to be over. "Well then, as I was saying-" 

The door to her office slides open, and I swear I can see the vein pulsing on her forehead. "Lieutenant, I was told you were looking for me? Oh hello, Caranraw, Sora! What are you doing here?" 

I groan inwardly at Mugi's untimely appearance. _It was all going so well…_

Hien, instead, shows more impressive quick thinking and turns to bow at the young man. "Well met again, officer. Thank you again for the assistance you and your sister gave us yesterday night." 

Mugi blinks a few times before breaking into a smile. "Assistance. Yes, of course! Remind me again, what did we help you with?" 

"Tourist information. Where to find a hot spring that offered some privacy, in the specific. The Bokaisen is lovely, but very… public." 

"Right. Hot springs!" Mugi nods vigorously and unconvincingly, "I hope you found a place to your liking!" 

"Murenogi," Kanba cuts through with a voice as cold as ice, "These two are suspects in a criminal investigation and you stopped to… to… give them _directions_?" 

Mugi rolls his eyes at that. "Honestly, stepfather-" 

"Lieutenant!" 

"-are you still on about that story? The _baozi_ were paid for. The vendor is satisfied. And the thief is, apparently, gone. Why are you still chewing on that bone?" 

"That's quite enough of that," the captain rises from her seat, and the motion is enough to make the two men stand at attention. Hells, I notice I'm standing straighter myself. "Murenogi, I will remind you one more time that you have to show proper respect to your superiors, even if - or even more if - they're part of your family. And you, lieutenant, let these poor people go. It's clear that they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. A day in our cells is punishment enough for whatever Hingan law they may have inadvertently broken." 

The two guardsmen cry a "Yes captain!", staying otherwise completely still until she gives a curt nod. 

"Right. Everyone dismissed. You too, foreigners," she says, furrowing her brow as Hien puts two fingers on my wrist and makes no sign to leave. 

He waits until Mugi is out of the door before bowing again and saying, "Actually, captain, my associate and I would like to have a word in private." 

A minute later we are seated in front of her desk, the captain filling three mugs from a metallic teapot, in what looks like a definite improvement from our earlier situation. Whether it remains so, I suppose it depends on what Hien will say next. 

"I apologise for not introducing myself properly earlier. My name is Makoto, and I’m the captain of the Sekiseigumi here in Kugane. And I forgot to ask for your names?" the captain says, despite having heard them from Mugi just a moment before. Double-checking, perhaps? 

"I am Caranraw Greyhame, captain in the Order of the Twin Adder in Gridania." As much as I dislike throwing rank, even I have to acknowledge that it's useful at times, especially when dealing with other armed forces. 

"And I am Sora, a samurai of Doma," Hien replies, following with a short bow, "returning home after a long absence." 

The captain crosses her arms. "May I ask then why you didn't join your merchant friend on the way to the Doman Enclave?" 

"That would be my doing," I say, "My friend here was in dire need of a vacation, and I convinced him to spend a few days in Kugane to enjoy all that the city can offer, before he returns to his life of duty and obligations." 

She nods, smiling. "An Eorzean soldier and a Doman samurai. It is an unusual friendship, some would say." 

"Less so now that the Doman frontiers are open once more. And Caranraw here is more than a friend: he and his colleagues helped relocate a host of Doman refugees after they - we - landed in Eorzea, and he was instrumental in freeing my nation. I owe him more than words can say."

I blush and lower my head at that. "It was a group effort." 

The captain, unexpectedly, laughs. "Aha! I knew I had heard the name before: Caranraw Greyhame, Champion of Eorzea, liberator of Doma, hero of Ala Mhigo… A storyteller friend of mine is trying to write a theatrical piece about you, but he simply does not know where to begin, given all the rumours there are about your deeds. His research folder is close to overflowing with clippings from papers like the Raven and the Harbor Herald.” 

I groan. "You should not believe everything those tabloids say. _Especially_ The Raven."

Makoto smirks, a hunter that has found her mark. "So you _are_ him. I may have to find something for you to sign, or my friend will never let me hear the end of it. So," she says as she hands us mugs full of scalding tea, "what did you want to talk to me about, and why does it have to do with Murenogi?" 

Oh, she's good. Look out, Briardien, you have actual competition here in the East!

I trade a look with Hien before saying, “We… may not have been entirely truthful about yesterday night.”

“Oh?” She cocks her head, bemused, “That’s an odd thing to admit so blatantly right after an interrogation.”

“That is true,” I admit, “but there are things we could not say in the presence of lieutenant Kanba… not without betraying a friend’s trust and confidence.”

The captain gestures for us to continue and Hien gives her an edited version of last night’s events, artfully skipping over the roof-climbing and almost-falls. “We spent some time talking to the young man, and it’s obvious that he is of two minds regarding his training as a Sekiseigumi. He wants to do what is best for his sister, but it’s also clear that he’s struggling against discipline and authority… and his stepfather.”

Makoto raps her fingers on the side of her mug, then props her head on the back of her free hand and sighs. “You’re not telling me anything I didn’t already know, or at least suspected. To be completely honest with you, had I the luxury of choice, Murenogi would not be the sort of recruit I would strive to keep. Alas, the Sekiseigumi have been dealt a harsh blow just a few months ago, when several of our guardsmen were involved in a rebellion. We’ve always been a ragtag bunch, but with our numbers heavily reduced and our budget stretched thin, it’s been harder than ever to recruit new members while keeping effective patrols all around town. When Kanba said that his stepson wanted to apply, even if he didn’t know how to hold a sword the right way round… well, I was in no position to say no.”

“And how is he taking to his training?”

Her look is an answer in itself, and Hien leans forward on his seat, flashing all his charm at her. “In that regard, I think we could be of help.”

We watch the recruits practice under their instructor, every swift and precise movement accompanied by a simple three-word mantra: “Strength! Honor! Blood!”

Well, _mostly_ swift and precise. One of the men in red and white is struggling with the forms despite his efforts and, once or twice, comes dangerously close to clubbing one of his fellow trainees with his wooden blade.

“Murenogi! A word with me.”

The young man jumps at Makoto’s voice, almost dropping his sword in the process. “Y-yes captain!” he stutters as he runs towards us, snapping into a salute only two steps away from where we’re standing.

“I am given to understand that you three already know each other, am I correct?” the captain asks, and she barely waits for him to nod before continuing, “Very good, then we can skip the introductions and get right to the heart of the matter. I want to give you a special assignment: there is a cold case that I would like to see reopened, and your scholar training may come in handy for the task. You will be excused from training and other Sekiseigumi business for the duration, but I expect to see a full and detailed report on my desk by the end of next week. Am I clear so far?” 

Mugi blinks a few times, possibly surprised that the captain knows of his personal studies, then belatedly realizes that she is still waiting for his reply and nods vigorously to make up for it. “Yes, captain! May I ask what are the details of this case? And, uh,” his eyes dart from me to Hien but all I can offer is a sympathetic smile, as we’re hearing of this assignment for the first time as well, “what do my- I mean, what do the _ ijin_ have to do with it?”

Makoto crosses her arms and smiles, a move that I find extremely familiar. “I was getting to that. While going through my predecessor’s papers I found a string of unsolved robberies spanning several years that seemed at first to have nothing in common: noble and peasant victims, households rich and poor, items worth a fortune or spare change…” she takes a dramatic pause before going on, “Nothing in common, that is, unless you happened to read many, many reports in a very short time, in which case two details would come to attention: the first is that the thief only stole a single thing each time, no matter how rich the household; and the second is that each purloined item, whether expensive or apparently worthless, had been in the family’s possession for over a hundred years.”

My breath hitches, and Hien’s as well. Mugi seems to make the same connection, his mouth opening into an ‘o’ of surprise. “Ancient heirlooms, held for generations… divine vessels?”

Makoto nods. “That is a possibility, yes, though there may be other reasons behind the thefts… or perhaps there is no grand plan and it is all just an odd string of coincidences. That’s what I would like you to try and find out. I do not expect you to crack the case in a single week, mind you: what I want is for you to do the legwork and find if there is anything that may warrant further investigation into these cases.” The captain opens her arms, gesturing in our direction and turning to face us in turn. “And this is where our foreign friends come in. I am given to understand that Caranraw is an expert in matters of the divine, and his samurai friend will be able to help you-”

“Captain! What is the meaning of this?”

I groan, turning with the others at the sound of the now-familiar voice of lieutenant Kanba striding in our direction. 

“Lieutenant. I do not recall inviting you to this conversation,” is Makoto’s reply, but he’s too riled up to notice or register the glacia tone in her voice. 

“If Murenogi and I are to take part in an investigation, I should full well think that-”

She raises a hand, palm forward. “Let me stop you right there. This is Murenogi’s investigation, not yours. At the time I thought it was a good idea to assign your stepson directly to your command, but now I am beginning to wonder if he could benefit from an environment where his family dynamics don’t overlap with his work duties. This exercise is to see how he stands on his own two feet… and the assistance of our foreign friends, of course.”

Kanba’s head snaps to us, and I wave my fingers at him like in the warehouse, only I’m openly grinning now.

“Captain Makoto! These two _ijin_ cannot be trusted-”

“Lieutenant, I have no intention of discussing this decision with you, least of all in public,” she cuts him short, “Just believe that I have good reasons for trusting these two men. In any case, they will be headed for Doma within two weeks. What wrong can two adventurers do in that time? Pilfer all the _baozi _ at the market stalls?”

Kanba startles, his face turning as red as a beet, then he bows deeply to the captain and mutters an apology to the ground before turning on his feet and returning to his previous post.

“Well, that went about as well as expected,” Makoto sighs, then turns to smile at the young guard still standing at attention, “At ease, Murenogi. You’re going to sprain something if you keep that up.”

The young man deflates slightly, then shivers from head to toe. “Cripes. He really did not like that. I hope he doesn’t take it out on Yuko later.”

“Do not judge your stepfather so harshly. Kanba may be old-fashioned in his approach to discipline, but he is a good man. If he is so slow to trust, it is because of my brother’s rebellion. The death of captain Kongo still lies heavy on us all.”

We all turn to Makoto in surprise, Mugi the most shocked of all, and she gives us a sad smile. “Did you not know? I thought it was common gossip among the guards. I was born Kagetsu, younger sister of the traitor Ugetsu. When my family was killed for my brother’s crimes I escaped, leaving everything behind me… including my name, for if anyone had known who I was, I would have suffered the same fate. I fled to Kugane, renamed myself Makoto, and knocked on the Sekiseigumi’s door. If I am here today, it is because captain Kongo believed in me and took me in as one of his own.” 

“Captain- I’m sorry, I had heard about Ugetsu, but I didn’t know…” Mugi lowers his head, his fingers nervously opening and closing on the grip of his wooden sword. 

Makoto shakes her head. “It’s in the past now, and I have buried Kagetsu alongside my brother. But Kanba… I fear something broke in him the day that so many of our comrades turned coat and just as many fled in dismay. He was one of the few who didn’t leave his post when he found the truth about my past, but he has never been able to trust as easily since.”

“I didn’t know… he never talks about those days…”

“Wounds like that are easy to reopen if you pick at them, and each time it’s harder to seal them again before your soul bleeds out. I would not bring up the topic with him unless he breaches it first.”

I nod, my mind going back to Ilberd, and the Bloody Banquet, and the Crystal Braves. To the day everything changed, and the world came crashing down on us. To the cascade of events that followed: the flight to Ishgard, the involvement in the Dragonsong War, the bloody battle at the Wall and the summoning of Shinryu… 

Yes, we turned the tables. We brought peace between man and dragon. We freed Ala Mhigo. But Raubahn is still missing an arm, and the dead are still dead: Haurchefant, Minfilia, Papalymo, Meffrid, Conrad, Ysayle, all the people who believed in the Griffin, so many of them without even a body to bury. 

I jump when I feel a hand close gently around my wrist. 

“Are you all right, my friend?” I hear Hien’s voice before I see him, the world around me switching back into focus. 

“Just a stray thought,” I say, affecting a smile and covering his hand with my own, “nothing to worry about. Where were we?”

“Your investigation,” Makoto answers just a little too chipper, and I wonder if she recognized the look on my face as the same that haunts her and her comrades, “It will take some time to gather the relevant dossiers and you must be already tired from your unnecessary ordeal, so why don’t we reconvene here in the morning? I will have someone return your weapons to your lodgings later today.” She smiles, struck by a thought. “Actually, Murenogi can do that! He’ll have to go down to the armory anyway… unless you intend to rain justice on this city with that wooden blade, trainee?”

Mugi blinks, noticing that he’s still idly playing with his training sword, and lets out a nervous chuckle. “Heheh… no, captain. I’ll go ask Tomikusa immediately.” He starts at a brisk pace, only to return to his previous spot with a sheepish smile. “I mean… I will go as soon as you dismiss me. Because that’s how it works.”

Makoto shoos him away before bursting into laughter, wiping tears from her eyes. “By the kami,” she tells us, “you’ll have your work cut out for you. Are you really sure that this is how you want to spend your vacation?”

“No gods, no wars, no tyrants, no life-or-death conundrums,” I shrug, grinning, “If that’s not a vacation, then I don’t know what is.”

Makoto squints, trying to gauge if I’m serious, and prompting a laugh out of Hien. “To be true, I don’t believe either Caranraw or I truly know how to be idle for long periods of time. Besides, it will give me the opportunity to understand how my master felt while he was training an unruly, headstrong boy with no head for discipline.” 

I cover a snort with my hand at the thought of Hien as a young rascal… but then I remember that it’s the same man that decided he could win the Naadam alone, and that blew up his own castle for a tactical advantage. The man that decided to love an Eorzean Roegadyn despite it being the worst possible choice for a young Eastern ruler. Perhaps the rascal has never gone away, but lurks right under the surface waiting for the moment to spring into action.

Hien cocks his head at me, worried under his smile. “More stray thoughts?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Just an amusing one. Come on, let’s return to our lodgings. I really need a good soak in the hot springs after this day.”

“I agree. And perhaps a hearty meal after that?”

“Aw,” I say as we take our leave, “you really _do_ love me!” 


	6. In which noodles are had and a question is asked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extremely late and extremely short chapter, but I wanted to put a new piece of story out there before Christmas. Alas, the end of the year is always a whirlwind between work and house stuff, so writing time is more limited than I would like.
> 
> On the other hand I just finished Eden's Promise and this bard was really, really shook when he heard M-'s real name like whaaaa~

We spend a considerable amount of time soaking up in the warm waters of the Bokaisen and their supposed restorative properties, and it’s well beyond sunset when we reluctantly don our clothes and make our way back onto the streets. 

“Do you want to go to the Shiokaze and have some of that popoto soba you like? And a good amount of tempura to go with it?” Hien asks, shivering lightly as we move from the warm establishment to the cool night air.

“Gods, I will probably regret saying this later but… no? I’m still quite drowsy from the hot springs, and not terribly hungry. We can get something at the stalls in the Rakuza district if that’s alright with you?”

“You’re the one who insists on eating for twelve,” Hien says with a little shrug, “Sometimes I wonder where all that food does even go. For all that you chow down, you irksomely insist on not putting up even an onze of fat on you.”

“Replenishing my aether, mostly, and building up muscle. The adventuring lifestyle tends to require copious amounts of fuel, in case you had not noticed. Why, would you prefer me with a bit of a belly?” I chuckle, patting my stomach as we make our way down the flight of steps, “Besides, you’re the one who needs to be reminded to eat, so I suppose we even out in the end.”

“I do not think nutrition works that way. Ah, that cart seems promising! What say you?”

We examine the fare for sale and it does, indeed, look promising. Smells promising, too. 

“Nothing better than a hot bowl of broth and noodles on a cool night,” the seller muses as we sit down at the counter and we can’t but agree when two of said bowls, piping hot, are delivered in front of us. 

It’s there that Mugi finds us a few minutes later, carrying a wrapped bundle in his arms which I suppose contains our weapons. “There you are! We keep on meeting unexpectedly! Well,” he adds as he plops down on the seat next to Hien, “not wholly unexpectedly since I was coming to find you, the unexpected part was meeting you here rather than at the Bokairo-”

Hien laughs, patting his arm. “We got the gist, Mugi, thank you! Ah, I see you’re still in uniform. Is your shift not over yet?”

The young man is, indeed, still wearing the red kimono and white hakama of the guards, and sporting a katana hanging by his belt. He looks for a long moment at the spot where Hien has touched him, a flush of purple briefly tinging his cheeks, then clears his throat. “Uhm, returning your weapons is actually my last assignment for today and then I can retire to the barracks. Here, let me…”

He unwraps the bundle and hands Hien his katana, and me my lutebow. Hien checks that the knot on the scabbard is still holding fast, while I play a few notes on the strings and wince. “Oh gods, did they store this in a damp cellar? I’ll have to retune it before we go to sleep, unless I plan on scaring the monsters away with this terrible noise…”

“I did not remember authorizing any monsters on our vacation,” Hien smiles at my fussing, “though I do respect proper care for one’s weapon. And perhaps you’ll play something later?”

“Oh, I would love to hear that,” Mugi says, “I have never seen a musical bow before. Is that common in Eorzea?”

“Only among bards, and even then it’s a peculiar design, more suited to battlesongs than ballads,” I say, turning the tuning peg as I pluck experimentally at a string, “This one is a gift from… a client, for services rendered.” 

A mythological white tiger god is still a client if he asks you to fight someone, right? Even if that someone is himself?

“It’s a beautiful weapon. And so’s your katana, Sora. It makes mine look drab in comparison.”

Hien raises his weapon so the light of the lanterns reflects on the lacquer of the scabbard. “This blade belonged to the son of a samurai I trained with once. He was killed when the Empire destroyed the town of Monzen in retaliation for our uprising. He never even had a chance to draw it.” His eyes turn downward. “Some people believe a blade should die with its owner, but I thought this one deserved a second life.”

“Oh,” Mugi says, averting his gaze, “I’m sorry. I had no idea…”

“It’s fine, Mugi. You couldn’t have known, and I do wield it with pride.”

After hearing Hien say the words out loud, I finally recognize the crest on that sword. “Is that…”

“Indeed, it is the sword you recovered on that fateful day, my friend,” Hien turns to me, a fond look in his eyes, “I could not bear to part with it.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so the cart owner breaks the silence for us. “Look, I’m sorry to spoil the moment, but the seats are for paying customers, and most foreigners won’t come near a cart with a Sekiseigumi blade hanging around. So, unless the boy is going to buy some food…”

“Boy?” Mugi whines, not really proving his case, “I’m twenty-three!”

“As I said: boy,” the man retorts, unimpressed.

I laugh, while Hien is curiously silent. Mugi, meanwhile, is patting his uniform in dismay. “Drat, I left my coin purse at the barracks. I didn’t think I’d have to buy anything. Well, I guess I’ll just head back and-”

“Nonsense!” I say, “Dinner’s on us, in exchange for your fine company. Unless you have more pressing matters?”

Mugi shakes his head. “Only a full night of sleep - or lack thereof. An investigation! I don’t even know where to start! What was the captain thinking?”

“Well,  _ I _ would start with your order,” the seller says, and that’s enough to bring Hien out of his mood and make him laugh as well.

Another bowl of noodles later, we take our leave from the food cart and decide to accompany Mugi back to the barracks.

“This feels weird,” he laughs as we walk, “I’m the one in uniform, but it feels like you are escorting  _ me _ .”

“Force of habit,” I smirk, “You wouldn’t believe how many people can’t walk a single malm without attracting all sorts of trouble.”

Hien is silent once more, a hand resting on the guard of his katana,which makes him look even more the part of the bodyguard. Mugi looks at him for a long moment, then changes direction abruptly. We follow him up to a quiet spot with little foot traffic, where he sits down on a bench and motions for us to do the same. “Alright. There’s something I have to ask, and this place works better than the barracks.”

I cock my head. “If it’s about the Archons or Sharlayan-”

“It’s not.” Mugi turns to Hien, eyes narrowed. “What I want to know is, why do you keep calling him ‘my friend’? It’s obvious that you two are more than that. And whatever Yuko believes, you two were definitely not  _ training _ when we fell on your balcony. I do have a nose, you know.”

The question is so unexpected that it takes us a moment to recover, Hien staring slack-jawed at Murenogi while I cover my mouth with both hands to stifle a laugh.

“Gods,” I say through the fits of giggling, “you look quite meek, but then you go straight for the jugular. Maybe there is a samurai in you after all.”

That brings a smirk to Hien’s face. “Our esteemed friend is a scholar’s son; it’s only right that he learned to use his tongue to strike as sharp as a sword. But to answer your question,” he says, turning to Mugi, “part of it is habit, for Caranraw and I grew close as friends and allies before we were more. On the other hand, I do not believe there to be a contradiction. Truly we are lovers, and very much in love, but that does not mean that Caranraw has ceased to be my best friend, my dear comrade, my ally, or my brother.”

Mugi cringes at that last one. “Ew.”

“Not  _ that  _ sort of brother,” I chuckle, and Hien nods. 

“We are not tied by blood, but we share a bond born of the time we spent walking on the same path, shaped by living and breathing the traditions of our hosts and comrades, and forged in the fires of mettle.”

Mugi cocks his head, grimacing. “Yeah, in simple words?”

I sigh. “We joined a tribe after learning their ways and completing their rite of passage.”

“Ah, now I get it! Kinda like Bardam’s Mettle for the Xaela. All those who pass that test become warriors of the Steppe and brothers to every other warrior.”

Hien and I look at each other, wondering how he stumbled on that specific example out of all possible choices. “Yes, something of the sort. You know the traditions of the Azim Steppe?”

“Only a little bit. Father spent a few weeks in a place called Reunion, trying to learn about their culture. Sadly, the merchants didn’t really want to spend time talking about lore and customs, and the tribe that controls the city doesn’t talk at all. Like, not even a word! They believe all speech is lies or something like that. Can you believe it?!”

This time I cannot stop myself from smiling. “Oh, yes. Communicating with the Qestir is an experience.”

Mugi’s mouth falls open, then he snaps it shut. “Oh, of course. You must have met them during your time in Othard. Is the steppe really as vast as my father said in his journal?”

“It’s infinite,” Hien replies, his gaze taking a dreamy look as it falls into the distance, “My favourite spot was on a hill atop of Reunion, where you could gaze at the great expanse of grass moving under the wind, and then you would really understand why they call it the sea of blades. Like the ocean, it has tides and ebbs and flows with life ever moving, with roaming tribes moving camp all the time, and herds of dzo and sheep grazing under the watchful eye of their shepherds…” 

I look at Mugi, and he is looking at Hien, mouth open and starry eyes dreaming of places far away. “You know,” he says, eventually, “all the books in my father’s library, all his journals… I thought I knew the places he described because I’d seen them all in my mind’s eye, but then I hear things like that and…”

“And it makes you want to go there for real? It kindles adventure in your heart?”

The young man turns to me and nods, longing written all over his face. 

“Never stop stoking that fire,” I say, moving to ruffle his hair. After a moment of surprise he pushes against my palm, smiling, and I wonder for a moment just how starved the boy is, and what for: affection? touch? excitement? knowledge? all of the above? “You never know what might happen in life,” I conclude, ”and curiosity for the world beyond the horizon can’t but make you a better person.”

Hien nods in agreement, giving him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder, and Mugi takes a long, deep breath that, I know from experience, is probably all that’s holding back a deluge of tears. 

He breaks into a grin instead, rising from the bench with renewed vigor. “Right! Anything might happen. And if I can’t go, at least Yuko will be free to, and I’ll have her tell me everything when she returns from her travels!”

Mugi turns to us and gives us a deep, formal Eastern bow, still smiling. “Thank you for your words, my friends. They have given me much to think about. I would walk the rest of the way to the barracks by myself, if you don’t mind. It’s a beautiful night, and you should go enjoy yourselves.”

We watch Murenogi leave at a brisk pace. Once he’s out of sight, Hien sighs and shakes his head, an amused smile on his lips. “By the kami, one moment he’s seeing right through us, and the next he’s utterly clueless. It is strangely endearing, but I can’t quite decide if I want to adopt him or snog him or throw him down the One River.”

“ _Snog_?” I say, quirking my brows, “Be careful, my dear: it seems that my peasant vocabulary is rubbing off on you. Besides, didn’t you say the other day that he’s just a kid?”

“A mistaken impression, it would seem: you heard him yourself say that he passed his twenty-third nameday. Why, he’s just barely younger than I am.”

“There is more to adulthood than a mere count of numbers, you know. On your twenty-third summer you were an accomplished swordsman, a young lord trained to rule a nation, and a secret insurgent sowing the seeds of revolution in his home country. While Mugi, well, he’s…” I grasp for a word, “ambling.”

Hien laughs. “I won’t deny we have a wholly different character and upbringing, but we do share some traits: idealism, a thirst for knowledge, a longing to see the world…” 

“Impulsivity…“

“At times,” he smirks, “And we both lost our father far too soon, and are desperately trying to fill the void left by his absence, while at the same time trying to grow out of his shadow.”

I scoot closer to my sweet lord, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Haven’t we had this talk already? I do believe king Kaien would be proud of you for freeing your country from its shackles and rising to the throne as its beloved leader.”

“And yet I feel like I fail everyday, that I could be doing more… that he would have done more, if he were still alive,” Hien leans into me, his eyes staring ahead at the glitz of the city beyond the canal, “It is silly, perhaps. My mind knows that even the great Kaien could not perform miracles, and that turning a country around takes time and the efforts of more than one person. But in my heart I will always be a child, and he the greatest hero that I could ever aspire to be.”

“But you are a hero,” I murmur, gently rubbing his back, “One with a big heart and a quick mind, and a desire to right all wrongs. Or did I mistake why you held on to that sword? I thought you’d assigned it to some soldier before the big battle.”

“I did,” he nods, “but I spotted it a few days later at the House of the Fierce, and sentimentality got the better of me. It struck upon me that the blade had been witness to both revolutions, the failed one and the victorious, the bloody and the joyous… and that it had also been witness to the moment we shrugged off our coat of fear and found each other for the first time under the plum trees. Back then I didn’t know if I would ever see you again, and all I had to keep me steady were the words you mouthed to me in Kugane. So I took the katana and hung it in my room, a memento of my most important promises: that we would be again under the same sky, and that Doma and its people would never suffer again under the yoke of the tyrant Zenos.” 

Hien unknots the scabbard from his belt and holds it in front of him, exhaling. “Then reconstruction began on the Enclave, and I relocated to my apartments at the Kienkan, and the blade got locked in a chest during the move, for we had found each other again in Ala Mhigo and the memento had served its purpose. I didn’t give much thought to it until a few days ago, when you told me to bring a different sword and choose a different name.”

“Ah,” I say, as realization hits me. “That young samurai who owned this sword before you, what was his name?”

Hien secures the scabbard to his belt once more, then turns to me and smiles. “I believe you already know, my friend. But enough reminiscing: should we retire to our rooms, or do you think we should heed Murenogi’s suggestion and-  _ hush _ .” 

He jumps to his feet, his right hand moving to the grip of his katana as his eyes scan our surroundings. I reach slowly for my bow, keeping my eyes trained on him and ready for danger. 

After a tense moment, though, Hien lets his breath out and sits back on the bench. “I must be more tired than I thought. I felt someone watching us from between those buildings…” He shakes his head, rueful, “But there’s clearly no one there. No, it’s just my mind playing tricks on me.”

I nod to him, slowly. “All the more reason to turn in early, then. We can ask for some hot rice wine to be delivered to our room, and then we can make our own kind of fun… or just fall asleep so we’re wholly rested for our first day as assistant Sekiseigumi.”

“A sensible course of action,” Hien rises again, more languidly, and stretches cat-like with his palms joined above his head, “and one I wouldn’t have expected from the Warrior of Light, to be completely honest. Aren’t you supposed to be all about the adventure?”

“Self-care is part of adventure. Besides, you always hug me like a stuffed bear when you’re a little tipsy and there’s no one to watch.”

That elicits a laugh from his lips, and he leans in for a quick kiss. “In my defense, you are an excellent bear-like pillow. And you have convinced me: let us return to our room.”

“Your wish is my command, my lord!” I grin as I jump up from the bench and make to follow him down the stairs, pausing only a minute to take another long, hard look at our surroundings. There really doesn’t seem to be anyone else but us around… and yet, Hien’s senses are rarely this wrong.

“Are you coming, my friend? Or should I content myself with hugging the pillows?”

“Don’t you dare!” I shout, taking the stairs three steps at a time, and wholly oblivious of the eyes trained on us from the shadows.


	7. In which we buy tea and a vase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year Everyone! 2020 was sure a thing, huh? But we're still here, even though some of us didn't make it, and that counts for something. Let's go on. Let's keep making good art.
> 
> By the way, I wrote a [short Starlight ficlet about G'raha Tia and one of my squadron guys](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348050). It's post-5.4 and there's sly references to chapters still in the writing, but I didn't want to wait who knows how long before posting it. Get your slight angst with happy endings while supplies last.

We make our way back to the barracks in the early morning.Though the Captain is too busy to receive us herself, she has informed the guards of our arrival and we are escorted inside the main building and to a large room that is half dormitory and half living quarters. 

The guard points us in the direction of a pile of documents taking up most of a low table and spilling on the tatami. Mugi, crouched behind the stacks of paper, waves at us as he leafs through a report, his eyes scanning over the Hingan characters with the practised ease of a voracious reader. ”Hi. Come on in. Take a seat. Start reading.”

“Well, hello and a good morning to you too,” I say, trying to shuffle the documents around enough to free up a seat. 

“Sorry. Concentrating,” Mugi sighs, passing a hand through his hair, “The Captain dropped all of these at first light and they’re a lot more than I was expecting. These reports go back ten years or more so uh, it’ll take a while to build a complete picture. I’m taking notes.” He raises a bound journal and shows us the open pages, full of a fine and minute calligraphy.

“Well well,” Hien chuckles, “and here I thought we’d have to spur you into work. I forgot that reading is your passion.”

“Don’t get too excited: these reports are dreadfully dreary and formal, and I might need someone to prod me awake after a few more,” Mugi yawns and stretches to punctuate his point, then nods to the cup at his right, “and I’m all out of tea as well.”

Hien sits to my right and grabs the nearest report, scanning it quickly over before turning to Mugi: “Is there any particular order you’d like us to read these? What are we looking for in particular, if anything?”

“Chronological order would be best. I tried to sort them before your arrival, but the lack of free space is not helping,” Mugi spreads his arms wide to encompass the mess in front of him, “For now just jot down anything odd, and we can compare notes later to see if we can spot a pattern.”

I smile, enjoying this new, industrious side of Mugi. I grab the next report from the same pile as Hien’s, and then I curse inwardly at the obvious issue. “Uh, guys… I cannot read this.”

The two men turn to me, Hien pulling a face as he realizes the problem, Mugi seemingly surprised: “You can’t read? I thought that a bard-”

“No, I can’t read _this_ ,” I say, shaking the page in my hand, “I can read and write Eorzean, but I barely know your alphabet, and I don’t know Hingan at all. I’m sorry. I don’t think I will be very useful for this part of our inquiry.”

That seems to make Mugi even more surprised. “You speak excellent Hingan for someone who doesn’t know our letters. Did you have a teacher in Eorzea?”

“Ah…” I bite my lip, wondering if this is the right time to get into a grand discussion about the Echo, “Not quite. As I said before, I have a gift for spoken languages.”

Mugi cocks his head and squints, sensing there’s more to it, but after a moment decides not to press on. “Alright, well… more for me and Sora, it seems. You can take the morning off, if you like, and meet us for lunch?”

I frown. I know that I’m not usually called upon for my scholarly and literate skills, but it feels disheartening to be so suddenly and completely useless. “Well… I could do that. Unless you’d like me to stay around and make myself useful in some other way? I could play invigorating music for you. Or,” my eyes fall on his empty mug, “fetch tea?”

Mugi follows my gaze and takes pity on me, gracing me with a gentle smile. “Tea would be awesome. Think you could go to the kitchen and make us a pot?”

“That,” I grin, “I can certainly do!”

It turns out that I  _ can’t  _ do, at least according to the cook, who lets me know in curt gestures and colorful exclamations that I’m some sort of butcher of tea-making and should never be allowed near a tea brick ever again. Apparently the Hingan take their tea preparation very seriously, and the whole affair is much more elaborate than a simple “put leaves in hot water”.

“Here you go,” he says, handing me a tray with three cups and a teapot, “don’t drink it all at once. We’re rather thin on tea these days and we don’t have the budget for more.”

That takes me by surprise. “That bad? I had heard that the Sekiseigumi were stretched thin, but not so much as to skimp on essentials.”

The man shrugs. “With Doma no longer under imperial control and all the trade agreements up in the air, the price for their tea on the market has more than doubled. Rumors of turmoil in Bozja aren’t helping, and most of what we cultivate here in Hingashi is reserved for the nobles and the most luxurious of teahouses. So, tea is rationed until the prices go down or we find a benefactor to fill our pantry.”

I stand in thought for a moment, then I fish in my bag for a metal tin and hand it to the cook. He opens it suspiciously, then sniffs at the leaves inside and widens his eyes in amazement. “Oho! What variety is this? It smells like no tea I’ve ever had.”

“Coerthan tea leaves. I use them for leatherworking, but they do make a lovely brew in a pinch.”

The cook takes another sniff and then squints at me. “Is this a bribe, foreigner?”

I grin. “Let’s say… a friendly contribution. Just keep the tea coming to Murenogi’s table while I stalk the markets.”

I could cheat and pop at the Enclave to buy tea straight from the source, but I’ve got a full morning to fill and so I take a stroll through the markets, gauging the price of bricks at various stalls and getting utterly confused by the myriad varieties and qualities available for sale: black tea and green tea, white tea and yellow tea, sencha and matcha and hwangcha… after an hour I admit to being hopelessly lost and resign myself to asking for help from a reliable source.

Luckily for me, Ume of the Umineko Teahouse is kind enough to humor me. “For the barracks? You’ll want green tea bricks, not too aged. Full leaf is fine but you can go for powdered as well: the way they prepare it, it’s going to be ground to a powder before use anyway. Didn’t their cook tell you as much before he sent you out?”

“I…” I rub the back of my head, smiling awkwardly, “may have gone ahead of myself and raced to the markets without bothering to ask for instructions. I didn’t expect there to be so many varieties. Outside of places that pride themselves in selling foreign wares, tea in Eorzea is pretty much Thanalan leaves everywhere, sometimes mixed with other things for flavor.” 

Ume nods politely, though it’s clear that the concept of using a single variety of tea makes her rank the western nations barely above the status of barbarians. “Though the practice of tea brewing was imported from Doma in our distant past, here in Hingashi it has been elevated into an art, and also a symbol of status: what, where, and how you drink your tea speaks of who you are just as much as your clothes and your finery.”

“So, cheap powdered green tea bricks…”

Her pasted smile grows even more intensely polite. “They are… utilitarian. Here, let me give you a list of reliable sellers. Just don’t say that I sent you or those sharks will jack up the prices.”

The first merchant, sensing an opportunity to swindle a rich foreigner, tries to sell me bricks at a price that made the Kogane Dori seem cheap by comparison. The second says that, regretfully, he doesn’t sell retail but only procures large quantities for other vendors. I finally have more luck with the third vendor, a nice older couple in the Rakuza district who sell me three large bricks of moderate quality, and also instruct a boy lounging nearby - a nephew or grandson, I gather - to deliver them post haste to the barracks.

With that errand taken care of and still some time to pass before noon, I ponder on how to best fill the rest of my morning: I could pop by at Tamamizu, but then I would certainly be conscripted in doing some errand for the Divine Circle; walking the markets alone doesn’t sound half as fun as it would be with Hien or Alisaie at my side; and that guard at the castle doors is likely to skin me if I ask him to play one more round of Triple Triad. 

I resolve to return to the Bokairo and try to work on some new music when a familiar voice catches my attention from the store next door. 

“-anything else you need me to do, mother?”

I peek my head inside and it takes me a minute to find the girl, surrounded as she is from porcelain and ceramics of every shape and type, holding a broom in her hands and talking to a shorter, bespectacled woman. 

“Yuko?” I ask, and she turns so swiftly that she almost knocks off a tall vase with the edge of her broom - a common occurrence, given the frantic look on the other woman’s face.

“Caranraw! What a surprise!” She swivels back to the woman, almost giving her a seizure as the bristles brush yet another vase, “Mother, this is one of the  _ ijin _ I met the other night! Come meet him!”

“How about you stay right there and I come in, so I can get a better look at all these wonderful pieces?” I quickly step inside and Yuko’s mother gives me a grateful look, keeping a hand firmly closed on her daughter’s wrist to prevent any further near-accidents in the making. 

“An Eorzean, eh?” The woman looks me up and down, appraising me with the quick eye of an experienced seller, “And an adventurer too: no wonder Murenogi likes you.“

“Guilty as charged,” I say, bowing as much as the space in the shop allows me, “Caranraw Greyhame, bard and wanderer at your service.”

“So gallant!” the woman blushes, returning the bow, “I am Aoki. Please remind me again of how you and my children met?” The quirk at the corner of her lips makes it clear that the wrong answer may have dire consequences. 

My eyes flit to Yuko, but she seems wholly oblivious to the underlying tension, so I stick to the same story that we gave at the barracks. “We met Mugi and lieutenant Kanba a few days ago while they were chasing a thief, and then we had a second chance meeting with Yuko and Mugi later that day near the Bokairo. We asked them for directions.”

“Really.” Aoki’s tone is level, as is her gaze on me, and for a moment I wonder if I said the wrong thing… until she starts chuckling. “Because she told me that you climbed to the roof of the Bokairo and soaked in the spring waters. Oh, don’t make that face: before being the wife of a Sekiseigumi, I was the mother of two children with a nose for trouble. After some of their adventures, I prefer them to tell me the truth of things, even if that means hiding a thing or two from my second husband. The last time they did something behind my back… well, let’s say I would rather not go through all that excitement again.”

“Is that so?” I smirk, “that sounds like a story worth telling. I might needle it out of Mugi later in exchange for some of mine.”

“Right. Murenogi told me that you know some Archons of Sharlayan, like my late husband was,” Aoki’s gaze turns downwards and she wrings her hands, sighing, “I know this may sound ungrateful, but please try not to put too many strange ideas in that head of his. It’s hard enough to make him face reality without filling his head with more dreams about nations far away. It took so much convincing to make him join the Sekiseigumi…”

Yuko frowns and hardens her grip on the broom. It looks like she’s about to say something, but then the moment passes like a cloud. 

“As it happens,” I say instead, “Captain Makoto asked us to help Mugi with an investigation, so we may be of some help with the reality of things as well. We just started reading reports this morning… well, Mugi and Sora did, since Hingan script is still a complete mystery to me.”

That seems to take Aoki by surprise. “Really? Kanba made no mention of that. I thought he would bristle against having to work with foreigners.”

“Ah,” I look askance with a rueful smile, “The fact is that Kanba is not actually part of the investigation.”

“Oh my! That’s why yesterday he looked like the rice had spoiled in his bowl. I wish he’d told me…” The woman looks thoughtful for a moment, then says, “Well, I’ll admit I’m not the first to turn to the help of strangers, but if the Captain thinks it will help, then I entrust my son to you and your friend.”

“We’ll do our best,” I bow again, then turn to the wares surrounding me, “But before I return to the barracks, would you mind if I took a look around? This is your shop, isn’t it?”

Aoki laughs, daintily covering her lips with the back of her hand. “Not quite, I’m afraid. The owner is an old merchant, but he’s been more and more hands off lately, claiming aches and troubles of his age. If it pleases the Kami, he may actually leave the business to me in his will.”

“He has to,” Yuko huffs, “You’ve been working your back off in this place for almost thirty years! That has to count for something.”

“He has paid me a steady wage, and never a day late. That  _ counts _ in this world, girl, and quite literally. But I’ll admit, I would miss this job if I had to lose it.”

A bell rings in the back and Aoki perks up. “Ah, that must be the shipment from Bukyo. Yuko, show your friend around, will you?”

The moment we’re alone Yuko sighs, leaning heavily on her broom. “By the kami, am I the only one who sees that Mugi is miserable in the Sekiseigumi? Oh, I’m sorry, Caranraw, I know you’re only trying to help…”

“No apology needed. I know it’s not his vocation of choice, but this investigation is the first part of this job that seems to have him actually excited. Besides,” I smirk, “I know it’s petty, but I really like the idea of solving a cold case and sticking it up to your stepfather.”

“You’ll hear no objections from me about that!” she titters, then she spreads her arms - almost knocking a porcelain bonsai down - to encompass the contents of the store, “Anyway, see anything you like? I can give you a good price if you buy something before she returns. Mother doesn’t really believe in friend discounts.”

“Price is no objection. Well, mostly,” I say, blanching at the price tag on a beautiful vessel with an exquisite golden pattern, “Size is, though. My apartment is crammed full of knick-knacks and mementos from my travels as it is. Do you have anything small?”

“Well, we do have some jewelry, if you’re into that sort of thing.” She leads me to the other side of the shop, where comma-shaped beads of all sizes make a good show of themselves in a display cabinet. Most of them are jade, but some have been carved out of other stones and crystals, and all of them remind me of the Yasakani-no-Magatama and, consequently, Susano. “I’ve seen jewels like these before. Are they common here in Hingashi?”

“Oh yes, they’re everywhere. See, I have one too.” She fishes out a golden necklace from under the neck of her kimono, with a comma carved in red crystal hanging by its end. “This one’s a gift from father, actually. He gave it to me for my nameday; it’s one of my very few memories of him, and I wear it at all times, so I can feel that he’s always with me.”

“It’s beautiful. And it’s a beautiful thought, too,” I smile, “Knowing the Archons, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were actually infused with some of his aether, too.”

Yuko laughs. “Well, if it’s magical, it has never given any indication of it. His staff, though, it’s… wow! When I use it, it’s like magic becomes completely easy! Well, simple spells, at least. Mugi says I need to train more before I try my hands at any of the advanced conjurings in father’s books. That’s why he’d like me to join a mages’ guild.”

I note the specific wording of that phrase. “Hmm. And what would  _ you _ like to do?”

She opens her mouth and blinks, as if unused to anyone asking her that. “I… I am not sure. I like being able to use magic, of course, and who wouldn’t? But sometimes I believe that Mugi wants me to study the arcane arts simply because  _ he _ can’t, and not because it’s what’s good for me.”

I nod. “Well then, it looks like you have some soul-searching to do, and don’t be afraid to speak your mind to your brother if it turns out that you have different plans for your life. He’s stubborn like an ox but he loves you dearly, and I’m sure that he will understand.”

Yuko mulls over my words for a moment, pursing her lips, before nodding. “I.. Yes, I will do that. But come now, enough about me! Look around! Find something you like!”

She gives me a gentle shove and I make my way through the displays, chuckling, until my eye falls on a tall white vase, with a narrow base widening into rounded shoulders, and adorned with a deep blue motif of flowering plum branches. 

“This vase…”

“Oh, do you like it? We call those plum vases, because, well, they’re used to hold plum branches in blossom. Or wine, too. And because they’re painted with plums, of course, although I’m not sure which came first, the design or the function. Mugi would know.”

“Of course he would. Say, would you be able to ship this to the Doman Enclave in Yanxia? I think it would make an excellent gift for Lord Hien.”

Yuko’s eyes widen in wonder. “You’ve met Lord Hien? I’ve heard the stories of how he reconquered Doma. They all say he’s young and beautiful and a true swordmaster, and that he charmed the tribes of the Xaela in following him into battle after defeating all their strongest warriors in single combat.”

I burst into laughter. “That’s not quite how it went down… but the rest of the description fits. He’s a strong man, and a good leader, and extremely charming. The Domans are lucky to have him, and he would do anything for his people.”

“And he likes vases and… what was that word you used? Knick-knacks?”

“Not exactly. He appreciates fine crafts, of course, but life has taught him to shrug off excessive sentimentality when it comes to personal possession, and to favor functional items over the merely pretty. I’ve seen him drink just as merrily from a cracked clay mug than from the finest porcelain cups. In fact, I doubt that he would purchase this vase himself… unless he had plums or wine to put inside it.”

Yuko cocks her head. “So why buy it for him?”

“Because sometimes you need nice things just for the sake of it. Because it’s easier to accept something as a gift than to get it yourself. And because,” I hover a finger over one of the painted flowers, “of the plum blossoms.”

The girl nods slowly. “You seem to know him very well. And admire him a lot, unless I’m mistaken.”

“You’re not,” I say, smiling softly, “I admire him very much.”


	8. In which inquires are made and lessons are taught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter to make up for the wait! Who would have thought that writing an original story with an actual plot would take longer than just retelling the MSQ? /s

I hear the laughter before I see them, sitting at one of the tables in the little square between the barracks and the castle, chatting away while digging with relish into their lunchboxes.

They raise their heads at my footsteps, Mugi waving at me, Hien’s face breaking into an even larger smile. “There you are! We were thinking of sending out a search party. How did you fare on your errand?”

“They should not want for tea at the barracks, at least for a short while,” I say, sitting down on the empty spot next to Hien, “so I’d say that’s a success. What about you? Did you make progress with those reports?”

“We didn’t read every single one, but enough to start getting a good picture,” Mugi says, sliding another lunchbox in my direction, “Here. We didn’t know if you’d already eaten, so we got something for you as well.”

“Far from me to refuse an offer of food. Now, what did you find?” 

“Well, mainly we confirmed the captain’s findings,” Mugi says between mouthfuls of rice, “there are several robberies that have nothing in common except that the thief only stole one very old item each time. Accounts vary beside that, but there are patterns: the thief, or thieves, only steal in the dead of night; very few of the stolen items have been fenced or have resurfaced in the markets; and now comes the interesting part: some of the victims have reported being robbed by a figure in red… or by a man with a turtle head.”

“Which may hint to a Red Kojin thief,” Hien adds, “It would make sense if they’re stealing relics, but their people are not quite known for their stealth. In my experience, they just tend to take what they want by virtue of their strength and numbers.”

I nod. “There’s another thing… from what I learned from the Blue Kojin, the kami are not necessarily attracted by old items, but they may also reside in those with a peculiar shape, or unique features, or imbued with a strong feeling or bond.”

Mugi leans on the table, groaning. “Gods. If any stolen item may be a relic, that means we might have to search for mentions of this shinobi turtle in… potentially all the reports in the Sekiseigumi records.”

“Not necessarily,” Hien says, “Given what Caranraw has said, there may be a different explanation for our thief’s appearance.”

“Which is?”

Hien just smirks and crosses his arms, to which Mugi replies with another groan. “All right, all right, I’ll try to figure it out myself. If our turtle thief targets ancient items, but that’s not a requisite for being a relic, then…” He squints in concentration, and I can almost feel the little gears turning in his brain. “Then… our thief may not be a Red Kojin at all, but simply dress as one to throw people off course. They may not be even looking for relics.”

“Excellent deduction!” Hien smiles, “While I admit that the idea of a Kojin ninja is exciting, an investigator has to consider all possibilities until the facts prove it wrong.”

“Either possibility is intriguing. So, what’s our next move?” I ask, as I dig into my lunch. There’s some sort of fish and rice rolls which are surprisingly tasty despite being wrapped in algae. 

“We were thinking of interrogating some of the victims, both recent and from years ago. They may remember details that have been omitted from the reports because they weren’t considered relevant at the time.”

“That makes sense,” I nod, gobbling down another little roll, “Do you want to split up for the job?”

“What, and do it all by myself? Gods, no!” Mugi says, tensing at the thought, “Besides, you may come up with questions I wouldn’t think of. Or, or, I may need you to look scary to get answers out of people!”

Hien chuckles. “Mugi, we’re going to interrogate common citizens, not hardened criminals. I sincerely doubt that there will be need for a show of force.”

“Besides,” I say, feigning insult, “I’m never scary! I’m cute and cuddly!”

There’s a sound to my left that I realize is coming from Hien, doubled over and wheezing with laughter. “Never scary?” he says, gasping for breath, “By the kami, my friend, I’m still half terrified of you since your bloody victory at the- you know,” he catches himself in time before saying _at the Naadam_ , since ‘Sora’ was purportedly on a different continent when I was claiming the Ovoo. 

“Hmm,” I grumble, “I’m glad my scariness is cause for such grandiose hilarity. The last time I saw you doubled over like this there were several bottles of liquor involved.”

“In my defense, I seem to remember that Lyse was making an exceedingly funny impression.”

“An impression of _you_.”

“Was it truly?” The laughter stops as he struggles to remember the details of that night, “Huh. Well, it must have been good.”

“ _Or_ you were really drunk.”

“Both, perhaps?”

I shake my head and notice from the corner of my eye that Mugi is staring at us, chin propped on his hands and a pleased smile on his face. “Anything you might want to share with us?” I ask him and he blinks, coming out of his reverie.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing really. I just… I like seeing you like this.” I must have looked confused by the statement, as he continues. “You two are so different and yet you work and laugh and do everything together, and you look so happy. It almost makes me believe that there is someone out there who might like me just in the same way, even if I’m so outlandish.”

It takes me a minute to register that he’s not talking merely of his character. “You mean your Elezen ancestry,” Hien says, and Mugi nods.

“You’re the first people in a long time that haven’t made any remarks about my ears or my skin. It’s.. refreshing, and I will miss it when you leave.”

“Perhaps you should hang out with more veteran adventurers. We see so much odd stuff that, believe me, a barrel-chested Duskwight barely cuts it above ‘mundane’, let alone ‘outlandish’,” I say, with what I hope is a reassuring smile, “Besides, I stand by what I said the other day: you look entirely fine to me, and your pointy blue ears are exceedingly cute.” 

Mugi blushes all the way to the top of the aforementioned ears, suddenly very interested in some spot on the ground. “…I don’t remember you saying that last part.”

“Didn’t I? Well, I must have just thought it, but it’s true. Don’t you agree, Sora?”

I turn to Hien, expecting reinforcements, but he’s lost in thought, arms crossed and eyes half-lidded. I ponder whether I should call him again, but before I can do that his gaze fixes on Mugi and he says in his most imperious tone, “Never stop looking for that someone, Mugi. They may be on the other side of the world or closer than you could ever believe, but just knowing they exist will grant you a strength without parallel.”

The force of his statement seems to take Mugi wholly by surprise, and he flinches away with a wary grimace. “All… right? Look, I was just thinking out loud. I talk about so much random stuff that I’m not used to people actually listening or taking me seriously. I’m fine. I was just saying that you two make a nice couple.“

While I feel that there’s a lot to unpack in that last exchange, I choose to shelve it for the time being and merely preen at the compliment. “We do look pretty swell together, don’t we?” I say, then add almost as an afterthought, “Oh, before I forget, I met Yuko and your mother earlier today. They send their regards. And I bought a vase for the Lord of Doma."

The mood at the table shifts with the change in topic, Hien relaxing his posture and Mugi almost literally beaming. "You met Mother? Did you go to the shop then? How did you like it? Did she say anything? Oh gods, she didn’t ask you any awkward questions, did she?" 

“Nothing too awkward,” I laugh, “but she did ask how we met, and she seemed oddly pleased that I would cover for you. Apparently Yuko told her everything about your rooftop escapade.”

“Of course she did, the blabbermouth” Mugi sighs, rolling his eyes, “I know we promised to keep Mother in the loop about our adventures, but come on, a nighttime bath doesn’t really count, does it? It’s not like that could lead to another dragon golem!”

I blink, repeating the phrase in my head to make sure I heard both words correctly. “I’m sorry, did you say _dragon golem_? Now I really need to hear that story.”

Hien nods. “I fully agree! But exciting as it sounds, I’m afraid that our work- One moment. Did you say you bought a vase for m- _my lord_?” he corrects himself at the last minute.

“I did say that.”

“An unusual sort of gift, knowing the man,” he says, cocking his head, “I’m rather curious to see it now.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” I grin as his face falls, “It’s already in a shipping crate headed for Doma, so you’ll have to wait until we return to the Kienkan.”

“You…” I can see him turning various phrases in his head, trying to berate me without giving up the game, and then finally settling on “Very well. I’ll see it when I see it… presuming that Lord Hien doesn’t regift it to the Namazu first.”

“He wouldn’t dare!”

“Wouldn’t he? Perhaps,” Hien flashes me that impish smile of his, “he might yet be able to surprise you.” 

I laugh and shake my head, defeated. “Oh, of that I’m absolutely sure.”

* * *

The first stop in our round of inquiries is the house of an old music player. “Yes, I remember waking up and seeing the thief leaving my home from the balcony,” he tells us, “My eyesight is not as good as it once was so I can’t say anything about a mask, but I’m sure that their garb was a deep red.”

“It says in the report that they only stole a _bachi_?” Mugi asks and the man nods. 

“Yes, which was rather odd. It was a plectrum of good quality, made of hard tortoise shell, but still worth only a fraction of any of my shamisen. I thought that perhaps I had startled the burglar and they’d just grabbed the nearest item before fleeing, but if you say that there have been similar odd thefts…”

“We are pursuing all possibilities,” Hien says, a very noncommittal answer that nonetheless implies that we’re still doing something, “Thank you very much for your time.”

“Who’s next?” I ask after we leave the house, and Mugi checks the list he and Hien made earlier that morning. 

“The next one is a woman called Shihoumi. She says that a group of Red Kojin stole her cargo while she was on her way to Isari, but she was rescued by a Kojin of the Blue and an Eorzean adventurer.”

“Oh, that was me,” Both men turn to look at me, Mugi with a questioning stare and Hien with a roguish ‘of course it was’ sort of smile, “That’s how I got involved with the Divine Circle, in fact. I think you can safely scratch those specific Kojin from our list of suspects.”

Mugi purses his lips, then scratches out Shihoumi’s name. “You truly go around a lot, do you? I fear my one single adventure will sound boring in comparison to yours… Anyway, since her case wasn’t even in Kugane we can skip to-”

“Shouldn’t we go and hear her out anyway?” Hien interjects, to Mugi’s further confusion.

“Why? Caran said-”

“Mugi,” hien cuts him off again with a sigh, “for someone who regularly lies to his stepfather and superior officer, you are frustratingly quick to believe the most extraordinary of tales. How do you know that he’s not just pulling your leg, or testing to see if you’ll abandon an avenue of inquiry based on someone else’s word?”

The young officer squints at me, in a way that probably wants to be challenging but mostly looks funny. “Is that what you’re doing?”

“I’m afraid that I’m nowhere as crafty as Sora makes me to be,” I laugh, “but the principle is right: people will lie to you, even people you might want to trust, and particularly if you’re wearing a uniform.“

Mugi mulls over our words for a minute, then nods. “In that case… I will go question her without you, if you don’t mind. Just in case you’re really some criminal masterminds.” He grins, then, and points to a place further down the road. “Let’s meet there in, say, half a bell? That teahouse sells excellent _taiyaki_ , and Caran was lamenting the lack of dessert in our lunch.”

“I don’t know what those are, but you had me at ‘dessert’,” I laugh, “Give my regards to Shihoumi!”

“So,” I say, after taking a sip of a rather heavy-bodied yet fragrant tea, “someone has a huge crush for the cute boy, and for once it’s not me.”

Hien almost chokes on the bite of fish-shaped pastry that he was chewing, and quickly gulps it down with more tea. “What? Preposterous! Whatever gave you such an idea?”

“Hien, dear, I am the king of unrequited love, the archduke of forlorn pining, the khan of-”

“I get the picture, thank you.”

“Anyway, you’re displaying all the signs. The way you look at him, the awkward silences, the equally awkward answers, the mention of snogging just as soon as he told you that he was of suitable age… ‘Twould be a desperate case, if not for the fact that he’s clearly returning the interest.”

Hien stares at me, drinks some more tea as he collects his thoughts, and sighs. “Say you are right: what would you have me do? The boy is nice, true, but in little more than a week our roads will part, and I believe I have only room for one foreign, secret lover.”

“Hmm. Well, no one says it would have to be a relationship. Even the Lord of Doma is allowed to have flings.”

A slight flush colors Hien’s cheeks, then he shakes his head. “No. We only have so many nights together before our duties bring us apart once more, and I would rather spend them with you than on a casual roll in the sheets, however pleasurable it may seem. Perhaps, in that far future when our love is made public and we’re living a quiet life together…”

I lay a hand over the table for him to take, and squeeze his fingers gently. “I will make a world where we can share that future, if I have to slay every single Primal and Ascian and Garlean prince ten times over. You are the man I love and I am your champion, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Then you’re bound to be my champion forever, my sweet Caranraw,” he says, raising my hand to his lips and kissing it, “However… I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“But,” I chuckle, “it would be remiss of me not to mention that you could very well spend a night with me _and_ with Mugi.”

Hien’s face and neck flush, his eyes growing wide as he realizes what I’m implying. “Are you saying- By the kami, is that even allowed?”

“Hien, dear, when it comes to debauchery, threesomes don’t even make it to the top half of the list,” I laugh, “That said, I don’t want you to believe that you _have_ to do this, especially if it is outside of your comfort zone. I am merely stating the possibility.”

“I see,” Hien says, smiling at me as he still holds my hand tight, “and yet, I cannot wholly shake the feeling that you would be somewhat disappointed at my ‘no’.”

I lean over to kiss his knuckles, mirroring his gesture. “All I want is for you to be happy. And if that means spending the next ten nights with you in the throes of passion, I do believe that ‘disappointment’ would be entirely the last thought on my mind. My lord.”

“I’m back! Oh sorry, am I interrupting something?”

Once more, it’s only years of combat instinct that stop me from jumping out of my seat and yelping like a schoolchild as Mugi comes up behind me and grabs my shoulders. And then, even more years of combat _training_ to stop me from turning on him and making him become one with the floor. “Mugi,” I hiss, “I like you, but please do not sneak up on the hardened war veteran ever again if you like your bones all in their proper place. Please.”

Mugi yelps, hastily retreating his hands. Hien, instead, simply smiles and holds onto mine, steadying me. 

Even in my heightened state, however, I can’t but notice that everyone else in the tea house has stopped and is staring straight at us. Belatedly I realize that I just threatened an officer of the peace in a xenophobic city where justice is notoriously swift and without appeal. “Perhaps,” I finish quickly, “we should finish our tea and leave. Quickly.”

“Nonsense! If anything, I should offer you a round of sweets in reparation.” Sweet, oblivious Mugi takes a seat next to Hien, grinning like a fool, “I’ve been told several times that I have a problem with boundaries, and I do believe that the threat of bodily harm makes for an excellent deterrent. So, how did you like the _taiyaki_?”

Unexpectedly, given my previous experiences in Kugane, his oddball approach seems to work, and all the other guests and waiters return to their own devices. Maybe there is some cultural thing at work that I don’t fully grasp, for I am fully sure that such tension in Eorzea would have definitely ended up in a brawl. Or a trial by combat in front of some old priests, at the least.

“Good,” I say after a moment, composing myself, “they’re good. Unusual, but Eorzean cuisine doesn’t really use beans in sweets.”

“Doman cuisine does,” Hien says, “and I think they’re excellent. As is this tea,” he adds, raising his cup in salute to a waiter who hurriedly scuttles away. 

Mugi, still untroubled, grins at the compliments as if he were the cook himself. “I told you, this is a great place!” 

After ordering tea and _dorayaki_ from an unfazed waitress, the young guard tells us that he was able to meet Shihoumi at the Kokajiya and that she confirmed my version of the events. “She also asked me to give you a message for someone called Kabuto - a rather roundabout way of doing things if you ask me - something about bringing Tsukumo to her if he ever needs maintenance?”

“Oh yes, Tsukumo is a wind-up doll. A living one, possibly inhabited by a kami, and founder of the Blue Kojin’s Divine Circle.”

Once more, Mugi does the wide-eyes-followed-by-a-squint. “You’re… you’re pulling my leg this time, right?”

I shrug my shoulders. “The kami reside in all sorts of items. Why not a wind-up toy, if it suits a god’s fancy?”

Mugi looks to Hien for support, but my lord simply shrugs and crosses his arms, impish smile on his lips. “Don’t look at me, I only get the tales as well. He never brings me anywhere exciting!”

“Halone as my witness, if you want excitement I will take you to Byakko tomorrow and ask for a rematch-”

“That does it,” Mugi cuts us off, clapping his hands in front of him, “We will finish today’s interrogations as quickly as possible and then you will tell me of your adventures over beers. All of them. And you will slow down as I take notes.”

“In that case,” I smirk, “I fear that’s going to take more than one night.”

“Good thing you’re still here for a week then. Now let’s go!” His stomach chooses that moment to grumble with hunger, and he shrinks in his seat with a nervous chuckle. “…that is, right after my sweets arrive.”

* * *

“All right, I believe the last person for today is… oh, fudge. I forgot Minori was on the list.”

“Should we know her?” I ask, but Mugi shaked his head.

“Unlikely, unless you’re a trader or in the Sekiseigumi. She was the wife of a very rich merchant, and she inherited his wealth after his death at sea. Her husband’s brothers tried to have her ousted from the family business, and I believe now they’re all working as fishermen or miners somewhere.”

“Heavens. Headstrong and with a vindictive strike. What did our thief steal from her?”

“An ancient harpoon, that belonged to this or that other lord a few centuries ago. Priceless, apparently, although that can mean ‘worth a lot’ or ‘worth nothing’ depending on who you’re asking.”

Hien chuckles. “That is true of many a heirloom. So, where do we find this Minori?”

“That’s the catch: she lives on her own small island in the southern archipelago, and is rarely seen outside of it.”

“How does she conduct her business, then?”

“She has an auction house here in Kugane where her retainers sell and trade to clients not important enough to justify her presence. The Sekiseigumi is sometimes tasked with providing additional security for the really big auctions.”

“‘Additional’ implying that she has her own guards.”

“Well, wouldn’t you?” Mugi asks Hien in return, “Most of her wares sell for more than what I’d earn in a year. I imagine she takes the protection of her shipments very seriously.”

“Fair point. In which case, one of her stewards might be able to provide us with information about the theft, or even arrange a meeting with their mistress.”

Mugi purses his lips in thought. “Somehow I doubt her busy schedule has an empty spot for a lowly officer, but… I guess we won’t know for sure until we try. Onward!”

The auction house is close to the castle, on the main road of the Kogane Dori. It is rather unassuming on the outside, likely to dissuade a casual sort of clientele, but once inside even Hien himself is impressed by the opulence displayed in casual view in the foyer. “By the kami… I have seen armor of that kind only in history books, and yet it gleams as new. And those pearls, even the Kojin’s best divers would call a single one of them a bounty.”

“I told you,” Mugi nods gravely, “She’s filthy rich.”

“We prefer the terms affluent and refined, if you please.” The heavy sliding doors that seclude the true interior of the auction house slide open a fraction to let out a weaselly sort of man with a thin, long moustache. As the doors close I spot the metal glint of a katana’s guard moving out of view, answering my question as to why such wealth was apparently left unguarded. 

The man joins his hands and regales us with the briefest of bows and the thinnest of smiles. “To what do we owe the pleasure of a call from the Sekiseigumi’s finest?”

Mugi explains the reason for our visit, and luck seems to be on our side for the steward tells us that Midori herself has come to accompany her latest shipment and meet with a client. “She is terribly busy, of course,” the little man emphasizes as predicted, “but I’ll ask if she can spare a minute for what sounds like an important investigation.”

“He didn’t have to sound quite so sarcastic about it,” Mugi says, moping, as soon as the man has retreated behind the closed doors. 

“A lot of people like to make themselves feel important by sneering on those they consider below their level,” I shrug with a smile, “It stops getting to you, after a while. Mostly.”

Mugi returns a smirk, scratching at the side of his nose. “And what do you do when it does? Get to you, I mean?”

“I imagine using them as target practice, or as pincushions for my sewing needles. It’s petty, and yet soothing.”

“Pincushions? That sounds rather sedate, as far as revenge fantasies go.”

“That’s because you have never jabbed a leatherworking needle in your finger.”

The doors open once more, and this time the steward is accompanied by a tall Au Ra with grey skin and face as severe as an Oronir that has just swallowed a pickled prune. 

“I was surprised that the Sekiseigumi had finally decided to look into the matter of our missing property. A show of competence at last?” the man says, looking down on us literally as well as metaphorically, “But no, after ten years all that they deign themselves to send are a foreign pup and two outsiders. Give me one good reason why mother should spend part of her precious time entertaining the likes of you?”

Mother? Mugi told us on the way that Minori is a Roegadyn, and he didn’t mention any children. If this were Eorzea I would guess him an adopted ward after the Calamity, but I remind myself that I would do well to follow Hien’s advice and not jump to conclusions. 

I see Mugi swallow while trying to keep still, maybe finding the nerve to speak, or perhaps picturing the Au Ra as a pincushion. After a moment, he takes a step forward and gives a respectful bow. “Begging your pardon, sir, but new elements have surfaced which seem to link the robbery you suffered to other thefts that occurred over the last years. If we could but ask a few questions to paint us a clearer picture of what happened-” 

“The written report we gave at the time already paints a very accurate picture,” the man interrupts him, “assuming you can read all the long words, that is. I doubt we could provide additional details of any use ten years after the fact.”

“We?” Hien asks, crossing his arms, “So you were there when the theft happened?”

The Au Ra seems to consider whether Hien, as a foreig interloper, is even worthy of a reply, then nods once. “If hearing the story from my lips will make you go away… I was awakened by loud noises in the middle of the night, and, full of the impetuousness of youth, I armed myself of my knives and dashed towards the source of the commotion. By the time I reached the vault it had already been breached, and a priceless harpoon stolen.”

“But ‘twas only the harpoon, correct?” Mugi asks in confirmation, “No other item was touched?”

“The guard at the time also questioned the truthfulness of that: why take only one treasure when they could have fled with several more, equally valuable and more portable? I do not know the reason now any more than I did back then, but that is what happened.”

He stares at us as if daring us to call him a liar, but Mugi simply nods his assent. “That fits with the profile of our thief. Now, one last question if you please, and then we’ll leave you be: back then you said that you did not have a chance to get a good look at the perpetrator, or perpetrators, but is there any detail at all that stuck with you after that day? Anything you can share with us, however trivial, may help us enormously.”

The man brings a hand to his lips, closing his eyes as if to sharpen his memories. “It was a moonless night, and the only illumination came from the few lamps that had been lit inside the house. I followed the thief, or thieves, mainly by sound, trusting my knowledge of the familiar grounds, but when I reached the shore they were already gone, and I could spot no ship or boat over the waves. Defeated, I started making my way home, but then… I heard a distant splash, as of a heavy object dunk into the waters. I didn’t give it thought at the time, but later on I entertained the idea that it could have been the thief, stumbling in the dark to an ignominious end. If that was the case, however, the sea never deigned to return us either their body or the treasure. Does that satisfy you?” 

Not willing to test the man’s patience any longer, Mugi dips into another bow, and we follow suit. “It does, and I thank you once more for your time. We shall endeavour to inform you if the inquiry brings any results.”

The man harrumphs, as if to say that he hardly believes that possible, then turns to leave, regaling us with one last, haughty stare before retreating inside the auction house. Soon after that we’re hastily escorted outside by the steward, who seems even more anxious than his master to be rid of us.

As soon as we’re alone, or as alone as we can be in the middle of a trafficked street, Mugi shivers from head to toe. “Wow. Well. I’m glad to be out of there: it felt like I was being judged, and found unworthy to even be judged. Still, that was a lot more than I expected to get, if I’m really honest.”

“Indeed,” Hien agrees, “‘Tis merely a guess, but if the thief did, truly, cast themselves into the sea instead of using a boat-“

“-then they may really be a Kojin after all. Pity that there’s no way to make sure.” 

“Caranraw,” Hien turns to ask me,” do you remember seeing anything like that harpoon when you broke in the Red Kojin’s vault?”

I shake my head. “I was rather busy with not being revelled to death by Susano, but I can’t say that I did. Not one that stood out among the many other weapons in the vault, anyway.”

I feel the weight of Mugi’s stare on me as I mention Susano, but then he just sighs and mutters to himself something that sounds like “later, you’ll ask him later”.

Happy to change the topic, I flash a grin at the young man. “I must say, thought, that was some smooth talking back there! It’s amazing how a little deference and highfalutin jargon can melt even the snootiest of snoots.” 

Mugi grins, rubbing a finger under his nose. “You forget that I was raised on books! I can talk fancy when I need to.”

“Who was that man in there, though? Did he say he was Minori’s son?”

Mugi nods. “His name is Nozomi, and he’s something between a protegé and a bodyguard. The story goes that Minori’s husband took a young Nozomi under his wing during one of his many travels, and since the couple never had children of their own, he was brought up as the scion of the family… despite never being formally adopted, nor named their heir.”

“It sounds like there’s some complicated history behind that, but unless it turns out to be related to our investigation, I suppose that’s their business.”

“I agree. Now, since we’re done with our inquiries for the day, I think we have earned ourselves a little rest before-”

“Let me stop you right there,” Hien cuts him off, grinning, “Your work day is nowhere near over, recruit. Honing your deduction skills is important, but you must be able to fend yourself in the fray as well.”

Mugi’s shoulders slump, followed by a loud groan. “Oh, please no.”

“Begging won’t help. Let’s head back to the barracks, Murenogi: it’s about time you learned how to wield your katana!”

* * *

“Seigan. Te Ura Gasumi. Ko Gasumi. Now shift to Migi Gedan. Again.”

Mugi stumbles through the kata, doing the movements correctly but awkwardly, having trouble staying still for the long time Hien asks him to hold each pose. It can’t be said that he doesn’t try, but he’s just about as natural with the sword as I am with the himantes.

Next to him, I am doing only marginally better, and Hien presses his foot against mine to correct my posture. I doubt that I will ever use a katana in the field but, if I actually decide to try my hand at Red Magic, it would do me good to get used to the weight of a blade in my hand, even one so different from Alisaie’s rapier.

Hien has secured us a spot in the back of the barracks, away from the bustle of the main courtyard, and I’m glad that there’s no one to watch us train, poor swordsmen as we are… although likely not as glad as Mugi. 

We go through more forms and movements for close to a bell before Hien relents and lets us take a break. Mugi huffs and falls into a cross-legged sitting position, resting the blade on his shoulder. “Cripes. It feels like my arms and legs are made of jelly.”

Hien laughs, sitting beside him. “It’s supposed to do that. With time, the stances will become second nature to you, and moving from one to the other will be as easy as flexing your fingers. And then you’ll reach the truly hard part of your training.”

“This is the _easy_ part? All right, I give up now. Throw me at sea and tell Yuko I’m dead so I can save at least a little honor.”

My lord smiles at the antics, though not without a little frustration. “Tell me, Mugi: are you good at reading texts in many languages?”

“Is this a trick question?” Mugi asks, brows furrowed.

“Entertain me for a moment, if you will.”

“All right. Yes. I do.”

“And was it always that easy?”

“No. I told you before that I had to learn words from travellers or by comparing translations, and there are still parts of some books that I cannot decipher-”

“So reading was hard, and learning to do better was hard. Why did you do it, then? Why did you not just give up?”

Mugi bites his lip, mulling on the question. “This feels like another trick question. I learned to read because I wanted to. Because they were father’s books. Because… I liked it. I wanted more stories. I always want more stories.”

Hien nods. “It was important to you. It gave you passion. It lit your fire.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Mugi says, blinking, “I never saw it like that. Despite the obstacles, it just felt as natural as breathing. And whenever I could translate a new phrase, or I noticed that I could read a treatise without the help of a dictionary, it felt-”

“Glorious?”

“Yes!” Mugi cries, shaking his fists in excitement, “So you do know that feeling! You know that… that… drive!”

“I do”, Hien says, nodding again, and swiftly getting back on his feet, “although I was hardly the student my tutors wanted me to be. I knew that studying was important, but it wasn’t what made my blood dance. _This_ was.”

Hien unsheathes his katana and moves between the forms he’s just made us practice, shifting between them in fractions of a second, and then he springs into what I can only call a dance, turning and pivoting and thrusting at the beat of the gravel crunching under his feet, afire with the beautiful grace of a man who holds his sword like an extension of his self. Mugi is just as transfixed as I am, staring open-mouthed at the impromptu demonstration. 

And then Hien stops, panting, smiling, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, and I have to sit down with my hands in my lap to hide the exciting and not at all sword-related thoughts that are running through my head. 

“The blade makes my blood sing, Mugi,” he says, sheathing his katana with a graceful arc, “like reading does for you. And the fire that fueled my passion was the desire to fight for my people, to free Doma from oppression and see it grow as a free nation. I became the swordsman I am now through years of hard training, but I knew that being good with a katana would not suffice to realize my dream, and so I channelled that same fire into my studies. One was duty, and one was pleasure, but both striving toward the same goal.”

It takes a minute for Mugi to notice that he’s still staring, then he hastily shuts his mouth and clears his throat. “I see. I understand… I think. Caran,” he asks, turning to me, “was it the same for you? Is that why you took the bow?”

“In a way. My fire was adventuring: seeing the world, taking on quests, making a name for myself. The bow felt like a good choice at the time: a woodsman’s arm, a weapon to strike your enemy at a distance before they can get to you, hidden in the safety of trees and leaves. But then…” I sigh, memories of the last few years passing behind my eyelids, “I think my fire changed. I still love adventuring, but now I strive to grow stronger so that I can protect the people I love: my friends, my allies, all the places I can call home. I can do it, therefore I must. For those-”

I see Haurchefant crumpling like a leaf at my feet, smiling as I hold his head, blood trickling from his lips. My words choke in my mouth, and Hien comes to my rescue, echoing the phrase he heard me say so many times during our weeks in the Steppe.

“For those we have lost,” he says.

“For those we can yet save,” I finish.

When I raise my head I see Mugi staring at me, awe mixed with worry. “Caran… who did you lose?”

 _Of course_ , I tell myself, _he’s an orphan, he knows the signs_.

“Good friends. Good people. Too many of them.” I force my lips into a smile, then ruffle his hair, making him squeak at the unexpected tease, “But I promised them I would keep smiling, so that’s more than enough moping for today. Now then, to the crux of the matter: what is your heart’s fire, Murenogi? It’s not just reading and knowledge, is it?”

“To protect the people I love…” he whispers so low that for a moment I wonder if I truly heard anything, then he raises his eyes to the sky and says, “Yuko. I would do anything for my family, and I will do everything I have to for Yuko. Including mastering this damned blade.”

With new determination he gets back to his feet and shifts into a guard stance. “Let’s try it again, master Sora.”

Hien nods, barely concealing the pride. “As you wish. Seigan. Te Ura Gasumi. Ko Gasumi…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my knowledge of kenjitsu comes from Google and YouTube videos, so forgive me if that series of stances doesn’t make any sense as actual practice. XD


	9. In which stories are shared

“It all begins on a cart headed to the forest city-state of Gridania, my only companions two taciturn twins and a peddler named Bremondt…”

Ignoring our suggestion to dine at the Shiokaze because it’s ‘too much for foreigners’, Mugi has dragged us to a small establishment with a faded shop sign and located perilously close to the Sanjo Hanamachi. Despite our initial reservations, however, the place has proved to be cozy and well tended, offering private dining rooms and a small selection of local foods and beverages.

“Hold on,” Mugi cuts me off, holding a hand up while writing on his notebook, “I don’t want any interruptions. Do we have enough beers for this?”

“We have two tankards full for each of us. Does that answer your question?”

“You’re right, we should probably order a third.”

Hien laughs, shaking his head, but makes no overt objection, so it fails to me to be the voice of moderate reason. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m the narrator and this show _will_ have intermissions - for the privy, if nothing else. Now, as I saw saying…”

It feels good to tell the story from start to end. Hien has heard some of it during our days together, but it was always in bits and pieces, as there was never enough time to just sit down and talk, and so he’s just a captivated audience as the young guard.

I try to keep the tale simple at first but, as the brew starts running through my veins, I turn more and more to theatrics, improvising songs, miming scenes, and making impressions of the main characters of this play. Poor Alphinaud suffers the brunt of the jokes, prompting the hilarity of my audience. The laughter dies soon after when I return one more time to the Waking Sands, only to find it full of corpses, victims of the Garleans and Lahabrea’s deception.

The bells outside toll midnight halfway through the Praetorium - despite that I try to rush through it to get to the Ultima Weapon, it just seems to get longer with each telling - and Mugi closes his notebook with a grumble. “Is it that late already? I’d better go back to the barracks before I get another reprimand. Even though we were just getting to the good parts… well, good- _er_. I can’t believe you and this Warrior of Light went through half of all that.”

“And that’s not even the half of it,” I laugh, “Some days I scarcely believe it myself. And some of it I would happily do without… but you’ll hear about it tomorrow night. Off you trot, then! We’ll see you in the morning.“

After Mugi leaves, with a mock salute and a wink, Hien turns to me and smirks. “Off you trot? I remember hearing those words from you right before I was to address my people at the Enclave for the first time. Should we be hopping on the first ferry out of town without saying goodbye, then?”

“Not one of my smartest moves in retrospect, I’ll admit to that - though I do hope that I have made up for it in the following months.”

“You forced me and Yugiri to leave halfway through the celebrations for a chance to reach you here in time. According to my wholly impartial ruling, you have to pay penance for… oh, a few more years still.”

“And what would my penance be, my lord?” I ask, returning his smirk, “Cuddles in bed? Oil massages? Utter devotion and veneration? Forced labor in the reconstruction of the Enclave?”

“Aren’t you already doing the latter, and far beyond the limits of Kozakura’s budget? If anything I should order you to take a step back and let them show how they stand on their own feet. That said… I’ll take all of the rest, starting with those cuddles,” Hien stifles a yawn, stretching his arms over the table like a big cat, “Unless you wanted to stay and drink some more?”

“Nah, I’ve had my fill. Besides, we have a full day of interrogations ahead of us. Wouldn’t want to be late for that.”

“I shall remind you that we volunteered for the job, so we’ve relinquished any right to complain about it.”

“ _Any_ right?” I pout, and Hien laughs.

“Fine. One small complaint, and then it’s straight to bed with you, young man!”

We laugh, then Hien downs the last dregs of his beer and looks at me in a rather pointed way. “You do realize we’ll have to tell him at some point.”

“I know,” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose, “preferably before the Warrior of Light gets to Yanxia, or that’s going to be two awkward reveals at once.”

“How did we tangle ourselves in this ridiculous weave of deception?” Hien exhales, “We’re supposed to be wiser than this.”

“Well, you wanted a vacation from being Lord Hien and I merely followed suit, basking in the lack of expectations that comes with anonymity. Who would have guessed that we’d grow fond of the boy and we’d regret not being honest from the start?”

“Y’shtola, most likely.” 

I burst out laughing. “Gods. Yes, she would’ve. Let’s leave this out of our tale when we return, shall we? She’ll be insufferably smug about it all as it is.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

* * *

The next three days continue in an easy routine, training with the blade whenever we’re not investigating people, and narrating the Saga of the Scions in the evenings. 

It takes more than two tankards to get me through the Bloody Banquet, the supposed death of the Sultana, Ilberd’s betrayal, the loss of Raubahn’s arm. And it takes something definitely stronger than beer when we get to Haurchefant’s death. 

The recreation of the scene is particularly heartfelt, with me lying on the tatami and stretching a hand out to Mugi in the role of the Warrior of Light. “A smile… better suits… a hero,” I croak, before turning my head to the side as if dead. Mugi openly starts bawling, and even Hien is moved all over again, despite having heard this particular tale before.

“By the kami, Caran! That was…” Mugi says, shaking his head to clear it, “The stories make it seem like noble sacrifices are beautiful and grand, but when you think about it happening to someone you know… Gods. It must hurt so much.”

I pull myself in a sitting position, then gesture for him to sit besides me. “It did. It hurt for so long, and in some ways, it still does. It’s like there’s a little ice chip next to your heart, and most of the time it’s dormant, or just an annoying discomfort, but sometimes it moves and it aches all over again like the first day.”

Mugi mulls over my words for a moment, then turns to give me a big hug, eyes closed and smiling. “Well, this is for you, and for your friend the Warrior of Light when you next see him.”

I return the hug after a moment, returning Hien’s bemused smile from the other side of the table. “I’ll be sure to pass it on. Should we wrap it up for today? We’re going to Azys Lla next, and that’s another long bit.”

“Alright. Miyamagi will be surprised to see me come back on time for once, even though it means one less bribe.”

“Right,” I nod, “those ‘special mochi’ of yours. You’ll have to let us try them too at some point.“

“Oh. Yeah. Sure,” Mugi says, following it with a nervous and not at all suspicious laugh. 

“Did I say something wrong?” I ask, and he shakes his head.

“No, it’s just… oh, fine. I’ll bring some tomorrow night. Actually,” he adds after a moment, “how about we switch it up? Tomorrow is Yuko’s night out, and if you like, we can tell our story! It’s only right that we tell it together, although I am much better than her at doing the voices.”

“Sounds like a plan to me! And I suppose you have an adventurous location in mind as the backdrop?”

“As a matter of fact,” he grins, “I do!”

When the next evening comes, Mugi dons his civilian clothes and tells us to meet him in two bells at the short pier. “I’ll go fetch Yuko at the shop, and we’ll get provisions as well. But I won’t begrudge you, Caran, if you want to make a head start on dinner: it’ll take us some time to get to our stage!”

“Hey! I don’t need to eat that much,” I grumble, pouting even more as my brain latches on the idea and starts telling me that, actually, a snack right now sounds real great.

“You’re a big boy,” Hien nudges me in the side, smirking, “you need the fuel to grow up.”

“I officially hate you both.”

Still, the Shiokaze Hostelry _is_ nearer to the pier than the Bokairo, so why not spend the time there while we wait? And if I have some of those rolls wrapped in algae to go with my tea, then what of it? 

We reach the pier at the appointed time and find the siblings waiting for us by a fishing boat. Yuko runs to greet us, almost stumbling on a plank, and barely recovers by leaning on the long cane she’s holding - an elaborate affair, topped by a circle within a circle and framed by swirly puffs like flames at the sides.

“Yuko. ‘Tis a pleasure to see you again,” Hien smiles, offering his arm for support, “Is that your father’s famed staff?”

“Sora, Caran, it’s good to see you! And yes, it is!” She thrusts it forward, gripping it with both hands, and I instinctively take a step back, having been on the bad end of many a similar weapon in the past. 

“Yuko, stop lazing about and give me a hand!” Mugi shouts, trying to load the boat by himself, and it’s only by a timely intervention by the three of us combined that we’re able to save our evening meal from falling into the waters. 

Once everyone and everything is on board, we start rowing toward our destination, following the coast towards the north. It’s slow going, and quiet, Hien and I taking in the glittering lights of the harbor town from the unusual point of view, much lower than your average ocean-spanning vessel. 

Hien leans over to dip a hand in the waters, then tips even further to read the lettering on the side of the boat by the weak moonlight. “Shiroi Yosei? An unusual name for a boat.” 

“Our father named it,” Mugi says, whilst maneuvering the long oar at the end of the boat, “Well, he named the predecessor of this boat. The first one...”

“You’ll find out later,” Yuko interrupts, wagging a finger, “That’s part of the story!”

“Right, right, no anticipations!” 

I cock my head, resigned at this point to be left out of any conversation that involves the written word. “Anyone wants to tell me what that name means, or…”

“The White Fairy,” Hien explains, “although _yosei_ is a term usually reserved for creatures of the western tradition. ‘Tis likely that Mugi and Yuko’s father translated into Hingan the name of some creature of lore from his home country. If his staff is any indication, he had a strong interest in Eastern language and crafts that went well beyond the attachment to his wife’s birthplace.”

“Oh yes, Father had journals full of notes on how this and that school of thought could be combined, or how architectural styles from different countries resembled one another, or how the design of one eastern staff was very well suited to embolden an Ala Mhigan kind of spell… _Comparative studies_ , he called it. And of course, living in Kugane meant that all of his later work was focused on Eastern knowledge.” Mugi lets out a tired sigh, of a sort I’m used to hear from Urianger after long days spent poring over musty tomes, “Alas, most of those notes are terse and only make sense if you already know what he was talking about - or if you can read his mind at the moment of the writing - so we’re still a long ways from deciphering them all.”

“So why a fairy?” I ask, “Do his journals say that?”

“Oh, you’ll see,” Mugi grins. Yuko takes a long look towards the receding harbor and nods, taking the staff in her hands.

“Yes, we should be far enough. Sora, Caran, take hold of something.”

“Wha-”

I barely have the time to grip the sides of the boat when magic flames encircle the top half of the staff and the boat suddenly _lunges_ , propelled by an unseen current so strong that it propels the bow of the boat above the water line. With a few more magic words and a flick of her wrist Yuko casts another spell, and a protective barrier forms around the boat, reducing the sharp blow of the wind on our faces as well as dissipating the wake of disturbed water at our backs. 

“Stealth boat!” Mugi cries, whooping, as Kugane disappears at our back and the Shiroi Yosei glides as fast as the swiftest cutter. 

“By the kami,” Hien laughs, shouting over the whistling air, “How did you come across such a magic?”

“Father’s-”

“-journals, yes, I should have guessed. This could change water warfare. No, it could change warfare in any field.”

“Wish it were that easy!” Yuko says, tightening her grip on the staff, “The spell gets harder with size and weight, so I doubt I could move even a small ship without collapsing. But it’s a good trick, and it has served us well in the past.”

“Let me guess: to sneak out on adventures?”

The girl simply smiles in reply, and the boat dashes ahead.

Our final destination is a cove with a rocky beach, surrounded by a tall cliff. 

Yuko takes a moment to catch her breath as we unload the supplies, stone pebbles crunching as they move under our feet, then she casts a spell of light that covers the whole inlet in a soft glow. The remnants of a broken shrine stand at the far end of the shore, by the end of a rickety path that winds its way down from the clifftop. Unfolding in the opposite direction, a serpentine mass of many-sized boulders dots half the length of the beach and breaks through the cove to end in the sea. 

“What was this place?” I ask, and Mugi is all too ready to answer.

“A shrine to Suzaku. Almost forgotten, despite how close it was to Kugane, since it can only be reached by sea or if you’re willing to risk your life on that death trap,” he nudges at the twisty path, “And also the place where our grand adventure ends. But first things first: dinner!”

Mugi’s bag of provisions contain skewers wrapped in waxed paper, as well as a number of bamboo baskets stacked upon one another. “The special mochi are at the bottom, in a marked basket,” he says with emphasis, “It’s better to save those for last.”

At this point I’m rather curious as to what, exactly, makes them so special, but I merely nod in agreement: they seem to be sweets, so it makes sense to keep them for later.

Between driftwood and Yuko’s magic, it doesn’t take much to start a hearty fire to warm our food and ourselves in the chilly night air. The siblings happily scarf down a few seafood skewers before giving each other some unseen signal, likely using that sort of sibling telepathy that Alisaie and Alphinaud seem to share as well; jumping on their feet, Yuko reaches for her staff once more while Mugi clears his throat theatrically. “Honored guests, the story you’ll hear tonight is a tale of filial devotion, adventure, mystery, and most of all… magic!” 

Yuko punctuates the word with a small light show, making me think that they spent more time rehearsing this than they let on, then he continues. “It all began one year ago, in a dark, damp, scary cellar… the cellar of a woman who had to raise two small children by herself while also tending to a shop… the cellar of… our house!” 

Hien snorts, while Yuko simply rolls her eyes. 

“Possessed by a desire to explore its unconquered depths-”

“That means he was hiding from Mother.”

“-I ventured to the far ends of that cluttered, messy maze only to find a strange, long object, wrapped in a tarp of gyuki skin. Very carefully-” 

“Not at all carefully.”

“Look, if you want to tell the story just say so!” Mugi huffs and his sister smirks. “I’m just correcting some minor inaccuracies. Carry on, brother dear.”

As they bicker, I lean towards Hien and whisper: “Well, if anything happens to the Leveilleur twins, I know where to get a replacement.” My lord laughs so hard that he almost falls backwards, bringing the siblings’ attention away from their argument and back to us. 

“Ahem,” Mugi says, pretending to dust off his haori, “Right. So, yeah, you will have guessed that the item inside the tarp was Yuko’s staff. Mother had hidden it there to stop her family from selling it, and in the following hustle and bustle of life she then forgot about it. I was so excited by the discovery that I didn’t lose time and I started trying to cast all the simple spells that I remembered by heart, but to no avail. Eventually, Yuko went down to look for me and tell me that mother had forgiven me for…. whatever it was.”

“Making her trip on the toy soldiers you forgot on the floor.” 

“They’re miniature figurines of great generals!”

“Same difference.”

It’s Mugi’s turn to roll his eyes, then he takes a deep breath and continues. “Anyway, she finds me trying to use the staff and I say it must be broken, it doesn’t work, here, try this. And she takes the staff, and she says the words, and bam! Gust of wind in the cellar! Everything turned over! Absolutely furious mother! One full day to put everything back the way it was. But when the chores are done, I remember that I have seen the staff before, as a drawing in one of Father’s journals. A journal written in an undecipherable cypher… undecipherable, at least, unless you happen to have his staff.” 

Yuko waves her staff and the glowing image of a Firebird rises from the bonfire and into the air, flying in lazy circles above our heads. 

“The journal laid out several advanced magics, techniques that our father didn’t want to fall into malicious, or merely inexperienced, hands. And among those, the ritual for an ancient spell, powered by a blessed tailfeather of the legendary Firebird… a spell to bring the dead back to life.”

I bite my tongue, stopping myself from saying that Raise and Phoenix Down are not that strong, that they can only revive the recently fallen, those whose soul hasn’t already left their body and returned to the lifestream… but their father is not there, so they likely have already learned the limits of such magic, and there is not need for me to repeat that painful lesson.

“We told Mother about the spell. How could we not? It was a chance to have Father back in our lives, however slim. But Mother deemed that the whole affair was too dangerous if the Firebird was real, and a huge waste of time if it was not - and so we were ordered not to think about such ridiculous things when there was the yard to clean and vases to sell.”

The bonfire crackles during the dramatic pause, and Hien fills in the silence with the obvious question: “And so you snuck out at the first opportunity to go and find the feather?”

The illusory Firebird screeches, whooping high in the air and leaving a cascade of fiery plumes in its wake. 

“ _Obviously_ . And obviously it was not as easy as that, or Father would have procured one himself. But then I remembered seeing an odd message on the Hunt Board by the Shiokaze: this one wasn’t a mark to kill, but a _ronin_ offering his services and combat prowess for any sort of quest, especially if there were swords or magical items involved. It sounded quite desperate, to be honest, but we thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask. I found him at the Hostelry and let me tell you, he was a rather huge man, with a booming voice and such an outlandish costume. An outlandish name, too. What was it again? Gal, Gul, something.”

A sneaking suspicion sends a shiver down my spine. “This… _ronin_. He didn’t happen to be running around with a green chicken, did he?”

Mugi furrows his brows. “A green… Uh, no. He had an odd dog that looked suspiciously like a _komainu_ , though.”

I exhale in relief. “Oh, good. Nevermind that, then.”

“Anyway, the _ronin_ says that he knows someone that knows someone that might know where to find a Firebird feather. And that’s when things start going wrong…”

The tale progresses among boat trips, riddles, secret passages, death traps, separations, and high-velocity chases, culminating in the sacrifice of the first Shiroi Yosei to collapse the entrance of a sea cave, all finely punctuated by Yuko’s illusions and pyrotechnics. After even more tunnels and secret passages, our siblings eventually end up “…right here, next to the shrine! And right as the map said, the feather was hidden inside the base of the statue of Suzaku. Unfortunately, we failed to offer the proper ritual prayer before unlocking the hidden mechanism, and so we unleashed a curse. Whoops.”

“Let me guess: this is where the dragon golem comes in?” Hien chuckles, and Yuko casts another spell, turning the large pile of rocks into a life-like creature, with quartz for eyes and a ferocious stone bite… all just for show, thankfully.

“Indeed! Even with Father’s staff, we were ill-equipped to fight such a construct. I almost thought we were done for, but then the _ronin_ came unexpectedly to our rescue, with Mother in tow of all people! He jumped on the dragon’s head from the top of the cliff, swinging his broadsword, roaring like a lion…”

He stops for emphasis, allowing Yuko to cut in. “...and a minute later he was swatted by the dragon’s tail, slammed against the cliff, and passed out.”

I wince. “Oof. And how did you survive, then?”

“Mother!” Mugi says, waving his arms excitedly, “She just ran down the path, picked up the sword, and lunged at the dragon, all the time shouting ‘I am a mighty warrior'! She was scary. And awesome. But mostly scary. I don’t know if it was luck or the kami watching over us, but she thrust through a gap in the dragon’s rocky body and right into its crystal core! With its magic dispelled, the golem gave a last great shudder and fell… becoming this large rocky snake right here. By the end of the fight the shrine was in tatters, and I was half sure that Mother would turn the sword on us next, but… we had the Firebird feather. We could bring Father home.” 

I lean over the fire, fairly shivering with anticipation. Hien, instead, turns his head to the top of the cliff, frowning. 

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I thought I heard- It must have been the wind. Please continue.”

Mugi nods, and for the first time in the tale he seems hesitant. “I’m still not sure how to explain what happened. I drew the summoning circle. Mother lit the candles. And Yuko cast the spell.”

Yuko, equally somber, raises her staff in the air as the circle on top is engulfed by ethereal flames, like it did on the boat. 

“The staff has done that ever since. As far as I can understand, it has absorbed some of the aether from the feather, although Mother and Yuko insist that it is the blessing of Suzaku.” 

Yuko simply nods, as if to affirm this self-evident truth. 

“As for the feather, it burst into ashes and sparks, and from the sparks a figure formed. Father. Wildemont Paslégers, dressed in his Sharlayan clothes, staff in hand… or that’s how I saw him, at least.”

“How _you_ saw him?” Hien asks, and they both nod.

“He appeared to me in his Hingan clothes, my favorite rag doll in hand,” Yuko says, “As for mother… well, she won’t say how she saw him, except that it was neither of those, yet unmistakably him. And he talked to us, each of us, separately, though we were all there. It was like a dream, but real.”

They both lower their gaze, and it’s clear that neither sibling wants to share whatever private conversation they had with their late father, and neither of us wants to pry. 

After a moment, Mugi clears his throat and continues. “The spell only lasted a few minutes, and then he was gone again, a fading flame carried away by the sea air. I know it was just an illusion, a fantasy, likely borne out of our memories but…” 

Tears start rolling down his face, and his sister rushes to embrace him before we can. Through the sobs, he says. “It was good, so good to see him again. To be able to say the goodbyes we couldn’t before.”

“To remember what he looked like,” Yuko says, with a similar, strained voice, “Real or not, it was a boon by the kami. A gift beyond all the treasures in the world.”

Mugi smiles at his sister, touching her forehead with his own, then wipes off his tears and turns back to us. “Of course Mother grounded us for a month after that, and only freed us so that we could work out the rest of our punishment with chores and duties. Still, so totally worth it!”

“Indeed, an adventure worthy of the annals! It deserves to be chronicled in a poem, or a play. Or a song by our mutual bard friend, perhaps.” Hien turns to me, expecting me to agree, but my mind is elsewhere.

“Maybe it was real.”

The three of them stare at me, silently, waiting for me to explain. “I’ve seen them before,” I say, trying to put thought into words, “The dead. I don’t know if they were souls, or memories. I don’t know if we called them back, or if they linger a while before fading into the lifestream. All I know is that they came when I needed them, and they lent me strength. That makes them real to me.”

There is the time of a breath, and then the siblings are on me, wrapping me into a tight hug. Hien joins them a moment later, a gentle hand on the siblings’ shoulders.

It’s a very tender, touching moment, one of those that few things in the world can spoil.

“Well well, I believe I should thank you. Here I was, primed to steal the samurai’s blade, but it seems this chase had led me to a grander prize.”

Something like this, for instance.

I open my eyes. On the other side of the fire, gleaming abalone dagger in each hand, stands the lone, fierce figure of the Turtle Thief.


	10. In which our heroes face a thief

Hien is the first to react, drawing his blade so fast that it looks like it’s always been in his hand. “If you want this blade so much, I suggest you come and taste it… or leave us be.”

I take a step forward and put myself protectively between the thief and the siblings: Yuko may have her staff but she’s no fighter, and Mugi’s blade is at the barracks. With a groan I remember that my bow, too, is leaning on a rock just out of reach. “It looks like you were both right, Sora, Mugi,” I say, affecting more confidence than I have right now, “there was someone spying on us, and it looks like there are ninja Kojin after all.”

“Right now I’d prefer being wrong,” Mugi gulps, as the kojin shakes his head.

“You can keep your sword, samurai. Let the girl hand over the staff and no one gets hurt.”

“And what if I don’t want to hand it over?” Yuko retorts, the flames on the staff’s head growing in strength.

“Then someone gets hurt.”

The kojin dashes towards her but he has to sidestep the bonfire, which gives Hien time to intercept. Their blades crash, the thief switching his daggers to alternatively slash and parry, Hien blocking them with his scabbard as he tries to break through his defenses. 

Both jump out of the way, though, as a blast of air hits the spot where the kojin’s feet were just a moment before. “Leave,” Yuko growls, her voice unused to issuing threats but not for that less sincere, “or the one who’ll get hurt will be you.”

“Pretty words from a pretty head, but do your skills match your ambitions?” The turtle thief lunges once more at her and she yelps. Though she still manages to cast more wind in his direction, her aim is off, and he easily sidesteps the bolts. 

I don’t have time to be ceremonious, so I just shove Yuko behind me, even though that puts me right on target for the thief’s daggers, if not for Hien’s once more timely intervention. 

As the two trade blows I look once more for my bow and, to my horror, I also see Mugi running towards it, likely with the intention of bringing it back to me.

“Mugi! Get back here!” I hiss, but too late: the thief has already spotted him. Slippery as only a shinobi can be - yet far too slippery for a kojin, at least in my experience - he disentangles himself from the fight with Hien and starts chasing the boy. Hien slashes at his back but, and here I wonder for a moment if my eyes are playing tricks on me in the low light, it almost looks like the edge of his blade is just rippling through the shell on the thief’s back.

Mugi turns his head and squeals as he notices his suitor, but the bow is in his hand. I see him making the mental calculation: can he get it back to me before being caught? The answer is no. Can he strike back? The answer is equally no: he’s not a bowman. 

But he can improvise.

He swings the bow low like a club, aiming at the kojin’s knees, and that’s enough to make the thief falter at the unexpected move. The blow goes wide, and that seems to be perfectly fine for Mugi - and for me, for a direct hit against hard shell would have been a pain to repair - as he runs a few steps in my direction and throws me the bow with all his strength. 

I catch it. 

Mugi whoops, but then he sees the look on my face and realizes his mistake. He gave me a bow, but no quiver. And now the turtle thief is on him.

“The staff, or the boy dies.”

To prove his point, the kojin presses the tip of a dagger against Mugi’s neck just enough to let a drop of blood spill, the other resting just below the boy’s chin and ready for a red shave; though his knee is pressing on Mugi’s back, the boy scarcely needs more incentive not to move. He’s trying to keep a brave face, but I can see in his eyes that he’s scared.

Hien’s equally still, although in the way of a tiger before the pounce, muscles tense and ready for the kill. 

“Let him go,” Yuko tries to threaten him once more, though her voice is shaking even more now, “or you’ll find out how it feels to have lightning course through your veins.”

“You’re too slow, girl,” the thief says, almost with a tinge of disappointment, “you wouldn’t be able to kill me before I kill your brother. Let go of the staff. Give it to me, and he will live. This I promise.”

“And how do we know you won’t kill him anyway after this? Or all of us, for that?”

Hien frowns, almost offended at the concept of being slain by a common - or actually rather uncommon - shinobi, while the thief himself merely shakes his head and sighs.

“I swear on the Yasakani-no-Magatama, and the Ame no Murakumo, and the Yata no Kagami, and I swear it on the Lord of the Revel. Your big friend should know the value of such an oath.”

I furrow my brow, considering my next words. “Those are the three sacred relics that summon Susano. A Kojin of the Red would not break a vow made in their name, lest they incur in their god’s wrath.”

Hien’s gaze flits to me for a moment, perhaps sharing my same thoughts. Relaxing his pose, he slings his katana over his shoulder in a boasting pose. “Then perhaps a Kojin of the Red would also remember the hero who beat Susano, and release the boy before incurring in his ire.”

With their sunken eyes and inexpressive mouths, it is nigh to impossible to read emotion on a Kojin’s face, but the thief has the briefest startling motion at Hien’s words… and most interestingly, he does not turn to look at me. 

“If you are the land-dweller who defiled the Vault, that is even more reason for you to make reparations,” the Kojin replies, defiant, “The staff, now, or I will return the boy to you… one piece at a time.”

“Don’t listen to him, Yuko!” Mugi cries, struggling, then yelps as the blades scrape his throat, “Father’s staff is more important!”

For a moment Yuko says nothing, still keeping her staff high, and then… then she lowers it, the flames atop dimming to nothing. “Don’t be stupid, Mugi. You’re more important than any old staff. Here,” she says, tossing it halfway between us and the thief, “it’s yours. Leave my brother now.”

It’s a split of a second. The thief sheats one knife then leaps forward. Hien strikes with his katana. And I toss myself at the thief from the opposite side, ready to tackle him down or butt him with my shoulder if need be. 

It might have worked, if not for the flash bang dropped by the thief.

When the sudden brightness abates and I can finally see beyond the stars dancing on my retina, the thief and the staff are gone, and only chaos and disorder are left in his wake.

“Mugi!” Yuko runs at her brother’s side, helping him off the ground only to wrap her arms around him so hard that they both crash back down on the pebbles, “You’re alive! You’re fine!”

Emotions cross fleetingly over the boy’s face: rage, fear, elation, sadness, settling finally on guilt. “I’m sorry, Yuko, I’m so sorry. Your staff. If I hadn’t let myself get caught…”

She pulls back to glare at him, and for a moment I feel like she could just slap him despite everything he’s just gone through. “I’m serious, Mugi! Who cares about the stupid staff! You could have died!”

“Well, I care!” Mugi half-sobs, half-shouts, “It’s Father’s staff! It’s the most important thing he left us!”

The slap doesn’t come, but she hits him with something worse: a wounded, disappointed face. “Were our roles reversed, would you have left me so you could hold on to that staff, then?”

“What?” He falls back, spluttering, horrified at the mere suggestion, “No! Of course not!”

“Then don’t shout in my face about not caring, you stupid butt!” Yuko shoves him in the chest, then the energy from the shock finally drains out of her and she slumps to the ground. “The most important thing Father left us is each other, Mugi. Everything else is just stuff.”

We leave the siblings to their heart to heart and take stock of our little camp. The bamboo baskets with the remainder of our dinner have been overturned in the fight, their contents spilled and trampled over. “Those poor mochi,” I sigh, “it looks like the gods truly do not want us to eat them.”

Hien comes at my side, blade still unsheathed, and not inclined to share my sarcasm. “The way you phrased your reply. You shared my same suspicion, didn’t you?”

I press my lips, then nods. “The way your blade kept missing him by a fraction of an inch gave me pause. His limberness, too. And sure, he might not have been there when I fought Susano, but…”

“All those things together seem to paint a singular picture: he’s not a Kojin.”

I nod again. “His outfit is most likely a glamour, or partly one. The shell on his back, at least, is not really there. And it seems he’s truly looking for relics, seeing how he switched targets after tonight - that is, after hearing that the staff is blessed by Suzaku.”

“There are two more things,” Hien says, lowering his voice, “If he’s been spying on us since that night or longer, then he must know who I truly am, but chose not to reveal it. Furthermore…”

He raises his blade, dark red staining its edge. “Not all my slashes went wide. Who- or whatever the thief is, he bleeds like a mortal man.”

Without Yuko’s magic to propel the ship, the trip back is slow going. We take turns having Mugi teach us how to row the Eastern boat, ostensibly to share the work between us, but truly to keep his mind occupied on things other than the assault. Yuko seems to be taking the loss of her staff rather better than his brother, though she still flinches at every sudden noise, and keeps clenching and unclenching her fists around something that’s not there anymore.

We land closer to sunrise than midnight, and it’s only after securing the boat to the pier that Mugi seems to recover a minute part of his usual gab. “Of all the excuses I gave for coming back late to the dormitory, this will probably be the most outlandish. Ironic, given that it’s a true one. Alas, my usual bribe has been left for the seagulls and crabs to enjoy. Such a waste.”

Despite the attempted glibness, his nerves are so frayed that he almost jumps in the water when Hien lays a hand on his shoulder. “This goes beyond a little tardiness, Mugi. The captain must be informed of what happened.”

A lantern shines on us, held in the hands of a Sekiseigumi officer. “And pray tell, what is it that happened?”

“Lieutenant Kanba. How did you know to find us here?”

He raises the lantern right in my face, so I can’t see his expression. “When Yuko failed to come home at the appointed time, Aoki sent me to ascertain that she was well. The pier was my second stop after the barracks and, with the boat missing, I merely waited for you to return… long enough that I was thinking of calling for a search at sea. Do you have any idea how worried we were, son?” For a moment, the officer facade cracks, and genuine concern spills out in his voice. “I covered for your late night escapades more than once, but this cannot be allowed to continue if you keep on disregarding your mother’s feelings like that! And now you tell me that the _captain_ needs to be informed as well?”

Mugi gulps, wringing his hands, Hien’s grip tightening on his shoulder as he tries to muster the words for a reply. “It’s- It’s the, ah, we were-”

“It’s the turtle thief,” Yuko answers for him, “he ambushed us, and he stole Father’s staff. Sora and Caran made their best to stop him, but we were not ready for a fight.”

“It’s my fault,” what was left of Mugi’s composure breaks as he starts sobbing once more, bringing a hand to the spot on his neck where the thief’s blade had drawn blood, “I let myself be captured, and Yuko had to trade the staff to save me. If only I’d trained more-”

He’s interrupted, rather unexpectedly, by Kanba’s embrace. Moustache actually thrusts his lantern at me so that his hands are free to hug both siblings, muttering soothing phrases and rubbing their backs. “Hush, hush now. It’s over. What’s important is that you’re safe.”

He raises his eyes only to address me and Hien. “You go ahead to the barracks, and we’ll reach you anon. On that you are right: the captain must know.”

“So he’s been spying on you two, and it’s only by chance that he found out about the blessed staff? That is a rather unfortunate coincidence.” Makoto paces her office, downing her tea in large gulps to chase away the sleep, “I wonder if I haven’t made you an unwitting target when I assigned you to Mugi’s training, though it may also have been the other way round. Nonetheless, the relic must have been of utmost importance to the thief if he was willing to face two experienced warriors for it.”

“Window of opportunity. He knew we’d be leaving Kugane soon and, out there by the cove, he had us at our weakest: willingly isolated, one of us unarmed, and with two inexperienced wards to protect. The risk was worth breaking out of his usual pattern.” Hien is sitting still, the tea in front of him untouched but for a polite sip to oblige his host. “Learning that his kojin facade is but a disguise does not, alas, leave us with any advantage, for he may just choose a new one by the morrow.”

“He may not know that we know,” I say, “but I agree that it won’t be of use if our thief goes back into hiding.”

There’s a polite knock on the doorframes, followed by Kanba sliding them open and coming into the room, followed by the siblings. “Apologies for arriving so late, captain. I thought the children needed something invigorating after their ordeal, and we stopped for a cup of hot broth on the way.” 

Judging by the red on their cheeks and Mugi’s lack of reaction at being called a child, I guess that there was a dash of something more than broth in that cup, and to be honest I’m a little envious: a stock toddy sounds right damn fantastic right now. 

“Good call,” the captain says, perfunctorily waving them in, “Captain Greyhame and his friend have just finished filling me in, so you didn’t miss anything.”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Mugi takes a step forward, though he’s seemingly unable to meet her gaze, and most of his speech is addressed to his footwear, “I couldn’t do anything but be captured by the enemy. I failed you.”

Makoto sets her mug down and reaches Mugi, bowing down and forcing his chin up to look him in the eye. “By the kami, Mugi, you didn’t fail me! You were merely meant to collate information, not to chase a shinobi. If I’d thought there was even a chance that you’d be facing the thief yourself…” The last part seems to be for Kanba just as much as for the boy, and the lieutenant gives a simple nod of the head to show his understanding.

“But I still have to make it right! You’ll see, I’ll double my investigations. I’ll find something useful to unmask him! I’ll get back-”

“You will do nothing of the sort.”

The words seem to hit him like a brick. “Captain?”

“We know the turtle thief has been spying on you and your friends, Mugi. He’s one step ahead of you. Whatever you do, whatever you’ll find, he’ll know as well. Besides, you and your sister have just been through a traumatic event. You’re enraged. You want revenge, and that’s going to occlude your judgment. I’m reassigning you to some other duty in the morning.”

“No! I can do this! I have to-”

“Murenogi.” 

Mugi stops, startled at hearing Hien use his full name, and with such a sharp note.

“You’ll do well to listen to your commander, even when she says something you do not like or you do not agree with. Such is the discipline of a samurai.” 

“I… yes, of course,” he says, deflating.

Yuko, who has been uncharacteristically silent this whole time, brings herself up and stares at the captain. “And who will be continuing the investigation in his stead?”

The pause before Makoto’s answer is as telling as her words. “That will have to be seen. The Sekiseigumi are severely short-staffed as it is, and-”

“So you’re just going to let that thief get away with it once more, after we got so close to catching him?”

“You got very close to being hurt! Do not mistake luck for skill,” Makoto retorts, then turns her back on the two, “You’re all very tired, I’m sure. Lieutenant, see that both make it to their beds without further surprises.”

“Yes, captain,” the man salutes, clapping Yuko’s shoulder as a not too subtle signal to let the matter drop. The girl glares at him, but lets herself be carried away, along with a downcast Mugi.

Makoto sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, the weight of her job showing all too clearly on her young shoulders. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, I shift on my seat and pretend to clear my throat. “Are we to consider ourselves dismissed as well, Captain?”

“No,” she says, reopening her eyes and taking place opposite us at the table, “indulge me for a few more moments, if you will.”

She leans on the lacquered surface, steepling her fingers, mulling over her next words. “After all that happened and the danger you’ve been put in, and these being your last days off duty, I would hate to impose any more on you-”

“Let’s cut to the chase,” I interrupt, ”I don’t want to step on any Sekiseigumi feet, but I am not known for letting people get off easily after hurting my friends. So, unless you’re ordering us to lay low…”

Hien lays a hand on my arm, a tired yet amused smirk on his lips. “My friend, I believe the Captain was merely going to ask us to keep looking after Mugi.”

Makoto’s smirk tells me he’s right, and I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks. “Apologies. It looks like Mugi is not the only one looking for a spot of vengeance.”

“It’s a sentiment I understand. For all that it pained me to deal the final blow to my brother, part of me cheered for avenging the death of captain Kondo and all the victims of his rebellion. We may be instruments of justice, but we are still mortals in the end.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” I know all too well about being the blunt weapon for some higher force, although I doubt that Hydaelyn cares too much about justice as we mortals perceive it, “So, you still want to show up here tomorrow morning, even if we’re not very good at protecting your recruits and their private property?”

“You’re the first to face this thief directly in ten years and you drew blood from him, so I’m still calling that a good result. The morning is good: Mugi will be busy for the rest of the day on a very boring assignment which will keep him rooted in one spot and away from trouble.”

“Oh?” Hien cocks his head, intrigued, “And what sort of assignment is that?”


	11. In which we go to an auction and see things from another point of view

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Alex Ryder for the beta reading!

“Security detail for an auction?”

Mugi couldn’t believe his ears. He'd just been held at knifepoint and robbed of a family heirloom by the very thief he’d been investigating and, rather than being allowed to pursue him, the Captain had decided to station him inside an auction house all day.

True, she had told him as much just a scant few hours ago, but he’d hoped against evidence that she would change her mind overnight.

“Exactly. As usual, Mistress Minori has asked us to lend her some of our force, since her own guards aren’t allowed to use their weapons within city limits.” She wrung her nose as she said the words. It was a lie that everyone kindly pretended to believe, since the Sekiseigumi depended on the continued financial support of the rich merchants who hired such ronin in the first place.

Mugi tried to hide a slight tinge of excitement after hearing Minori’s name. If she or her son were in attendance, he might ask them some more questions… 

“And Mugi, no harassing our hosts about the Turtle Thief. I mean it.”

Well. So much for that.

“You’ll rendezvous here at the second bell of the afternoon with the other guards in the team. Tomikusa will be in charge and I expect you to follow his every instruction to the letter,” the Captain continued, “Until then, you are to go back to your regular duties.”

“Uhm… I’m not sure what those are, right now,” Mugi replied with a tilt of his head, and was rewarded with an amused smile.

“Go get you bokken, Mugi. I believe your instructor is already waiting for you.”

“Caran, Sora! What are you doing here?”

Caranraw crossed his arms, in what Mugi could only hope was feigned disappointment. “Well, you could try not to sound so surprised. D’you really think we’d leave you alone after last night?”

“I didn’t!,” he cried, sounding horribly plaintive even to his own ears, “but with the investigation closed down-”

“The other part of our arrangement with the Captain is still standing,” Sora said, flipping a practice sword in his hand and bopping Mugi on the head with its handle, “And I’m yet determined to make a swordsman out of you before we leave for Doma.”

“A great swordsman?” Mugi quipped, rubbing his head. Sora returned him an appraising look, squaring him from head to toe and rubbing his chin.

“Let’s aim for a _passable_ swordsman and leave room for improvement, shall we?”

Training went as well as could be expected, with everything but the sword and its kata on Mugi’s mind, but Sora didn’t believe that warranted giving him a break. “The enemy won’t wait for you to be level-headed and clear of mind. They’ll attack you when you are tired, and hurt, and confused, and distracted. They will fight dirty, and attack in greater numbers. Only by being one with the blade you will be ready for every eventuality.”

“I know,” he sighed after the umpteenth defeat, “but can you at least stop whacking me in the head to prove your point? I’m gonna grow a nice bump at this rate.”

“‘Tis good incentive to try to avoid my blows,” Sora laughed, then ruffled Mugi’s hair - a move he’d picked up from Caran, and which Mugi would have furiously rebelled at if it had come from anyone but those two. 

To be honest with himself, he was not quite sure what to make of them. Despite Caran’s stories of dragons and gods and Ascians - and Captain Makoto calling him a fellow captain, too - they still affected being two common adventurers to anyone who asked. And though their friendship and protectiveness toward him certainly had a brotherly feel to it, Mugi was not wholly sure if they saw him more as a child or a peer, or if they would remember him at all after the end of their Hingan adventure. 

“I believe it is your turn now, my friend,” Sora told Caran, teasing, and the Roegadyn responded in kind. 

“You are way too eager to prove your superiority over me, love.”

“Well, I’m certainly not making the mistake to challenge you to an archery contest again, that’s for sure.”

The two kept on bickering playfully as they traded blows, Sora moving painfully slow as Caran figured out the right riposte to his attacks.

 _Get your mind off of them, Mugi,_ he told himself, _they’ll be gone in a few days either way, and you have bigger things to worry about._

But they were here still… 

With an impish grin he redoubled his grip on the bokken and thrust at Sora out of the blue. “I’m coming to your help, Caran! Let’s see how he fares against two valiant opponents!”

Rather predictably, Sora wiped the floor with them. It had been good sport though, and Mugi was sure that some of their blows had managed to break through the samurai’s defences. 

Well, one blow at least. He was mostly sure. 

The midday bell saved them from further embarrassment, and they went to clean themselves up before their meal. Sora finished his ablutions early, having barely broken a sweat, and told them he’d go ahead and return their training swords, leaving Mugi alone with Caran. 

“So,” the big archer said in the not-truly-casual tone of anyone trying to start an awkward conversation, “how are you doing?”

“Fine,” Mugi answered, seeing where this was going, “Never better.”

“Mugi-”

“What do you want me to tell you? I made a fool of myself. I got myself captured. I had a knife pointed at my throat. Two knives!” Mugi pushed back tears, refusing to show weakness where the other Sekiseigumi could see him, “And I’m absolutely furious that Yuko had to give up something so valuable to save me! I was supposed to help her and I ruined everything instead! And gods help me, if you try to hug me to make it better-”

Caran stopped, hand half-raised, then pretended that he’d always wanted to pass it through his hair. Mugi cursed himself for saying the words. Hugs were good. The world needed more hugs. _He_ needed a hug. 

“I suppose you’re in no mood for a story of how I failed and then picked myself up, then,” Caran said instead, “And that’s fine. No one ever wants to hear it the first time. You’ve got to get out of that rut on your own. The only thing I’ll say, though, is that sometimes that means shoving your hurt down in a corner and saving it for later.”

“So what? I’m just supposed to do nothing?”

“No, you’re supposed to do _something else_. Like training with your katana, or strengthening your skills, or finding allies within the ranks. And then, when the opportunity presents itself, you strike.”

“And what if the opportunity never comes?”

The bard shrugged. “Then you make one. Hells, I went to Yanxia and brought upon a revolution just to create an opportunity in Ala Mhigo. Ah, sorry: I did fall into storytime after all.”

“And that’s a tale I intend to hear in full. Don’t you dare leave before I do.” A small smile formed on Mugi’s lips. Perhaps there were still things to take joy in, even if the general situation sucked. 

“So,” he asked just as casually after a moment’s silence, “how’s your bow? Sorry for swinging it around like a club.”

“Nothing a little dark matter can’t fix. And how’s Yuko? Have you heard from her?”

Mugi shook his head. ”She went home with Kanba, and I haven’t seen him today yet. She likes to put up a tough act, but I’m sure she’s more shaken than she lets on.”

“I’ll try to see if she’s at the shop in the afternoon. Ah, there’s Hien! Let’s go then, I’m starving!”

“When are you _not_ starving?” Mugi rolled his eyes and laughed despite himself.

Well, one thing was for sure: perhaps they were not going to miss him, but he would definitely miss them.

~ 

Tomikusa was no-nonsense and efficient, which made him the perfect choice to deal with the steward of the auction house and his endless requests.

The small group of guards had met with Minori’s porters at the piers and had escorted them and their cargo through the Kogane Dori and to the auction house, an endeavour that was more show than effort and consisted mostly of them looking stern and keeping their hands on their blades. 

The next part of the assignment would be even more show and even less effort, as all they would have to do was to stand still on the corner that the steward pointed them at until every item was sold and the auction was over. 

Yes, technically they’d also have to intervene in the case of a theft, but who would dare face the combined force of the Sekiseigumi and Minori’s ronin?

 _Not the Turtle Thief_ , Mugi thought, _he’d just steal directly from the source, on her own island. But only the one time._

Two guards were stationed in the foyer, and two more in the back with the crates. Mugi, along with Ranjishi, had the dubious privilege of being assigned to the auction room, which meant they would have to stand at attention all the time. His back was going to kill him come the evening.

On the other hand, he’d get to see a real, fancy auction with fancy items, not like the parade of curios and knick-knacks in the back alleys of the Kogane Dori. 

“Ah, that must be the famous foreign samurai that captain Makoto loves so much to talk about.”

Tomikusa and the steward were following a tall woman who seemed to have been carved out of green jade and looked just as strong, despite the jade-topped cane she leaned on with every right step. The fine cut of her clothes and the look of absolute confidence on her face didn’t leave Mugi any doubts as to who she was supposed to be.

“Apologies, mistress Minori, but this is not him,” Tomikusa hurried to correct her, “This is Murenogi, one of our younger recruits. Though his father was _ijin_ , the boy was born and raised here in Kugane.”

Mugi bit his lip and covered a frown by bowing to the Roegadyn merchant with the appropriate amount of deference. He knew what Tomikusa was trying to say, but being called a good Hingan despite his Sharlayan heritage was only a few steps above being called a half-foreigner or a mutt. 

“I see. Still, it is unusual to see an Elezen living in Hingashi, much less as a member of Kugane’s devoted guards.” The woman leaned forward to look him in the eye, as if he was a horse or one of her wares to appraise. Mere force of habit, Mugi told himself. 

Before she could pass judgment on him, a familiar voice reached them from the back. “This is the guard I was telling you about, Mother. The one that was investigating the stolen harpoon.” 

Nozomi took position at his mother’s side, still looking like he’d swallowed something sour and hadn’t yet been able to pass it. Mugi couldn’t help but notice that his left hand was heavily bandaged, and that the Au Ra hid both hands behind his back when he noticed his staring.

“Is he now?” Minori seemed bemused by the development. “Then tell me, Murenogi, are you any closer to retrieving our stolen merchandise?”

It took Mugi’s brain a couple of seconds to realize that he was probably supposed to answer. “I-I’m afraid not, ma’am. My job was merely to collect and verify information. Although we crossed paths with the Turtle Thief the other night, he is an expert shinobi and managed to elude capture. We’ll get him soon, though,” he concluded, the words seeming weak to his own ears.

“Disappointing…. and yet a step forward. Assuming he is the same thief that robbed us, of course. Well then,” Minori smiled, though it was in no way reassuring, “I wish you luck, young man. Perhaps you’ll catch this… Turtle Thief, you called him? An interesting moniker.”

Without waiting for a reply, the woman turned and made for the foyer, her retinue of three quickly following tail. She stopped only a moment to stoop heavily on her cane, raising a hand to reject her steward’s offer of help, then picked up the pace as if nothing had happened.

 _Well,_ Mugi thought, _that has been a weird exchange. Although, when you’re that rich, I suppose that no one ever tells you that you’re eccentric to your face._

The auction was a lot less exciting than he thought it’d be. The rich customers in attendance, whether they were nobles or merchants, didn’t shout and try to outbid each other ferociously like in the public auctions, but merely raised their hands in silence, sometimes scowling or grinning ferociously at each other - especially if one was from a different social standing, as if the bidding war was just a polite substitute for all-out conflict.

Hells, for all Mugi knew, that might actually be true.

The wares were, in his wholly unprofessional opinion, a mixed bunch: some were obviously precious beyond compare, like a necklace encrusted with sapphires and diamonds; others had their worth measured by the skill poured into them, like an ink wash painting of the mountains of Yanxia, or a Hingan writing cabinet, or a traditional costume from the Azim Steppe; some… well, some were just plain weird. 

“Article number 34 is… a large chunk of the finest Ishgardian rock salt,” the auctioneer announced, with a slight inflection at the end which might have been a question mark, echoing Mugi’s confusion as to why some rich person would want to buy _salt_ from halfway over the world. Sure, salt was important for everyday life, but they lived on an archipelago, so it’s not like the stuff was in short supply in Hingashi. Perhaps the fact that it came from rocks made it special. How did that even work, anyway? It wasn’t like you could evaporate rocks like seawater. Or was it mined out of mountains, like gems? He’d have to ask someone.

Lost in his train of thought, he blinked back only to see that the rock salt had already been purchased and a new item was being brought out for sale. 

“Article number 35 is a fine _bachi_ of hard tortoise shell, reputed to be over a hundred years old. Bids start at two thousand-”

Mugi tuned the auctioneer’s voice out, staring at the plectrum on the stage. He had never seen it before, of course, but the description matched the _bachi_ stolen from the house of the shamisen player. Could it possibly be the same one? If he could find where it came from, he could be a step closer to uncovering the thief. 

Except he wasn’t allowed to pester his hosts about the thief. If word got back to the captain, he’d be as good as dead. 

But then, Nozomi himself brought up the topic. Surely a follow-up wouldn’t hurt? Of course he’d have to arrange to be able to speak to him or his mother again before they left the auction house… 

He thought back to Caranraw’s words. He needed help. And for that, he would need to play by the rules.

Sitting - or rather, standing - still through the rest of the auction put Mugi’s patience thoroughly to the test, but Tomikusa was in the foyer, and there was no way he could sneak through the closed doors without drawing attention on himself or, worse, angering Tomikusa.

The wait proved fruitful, though, as he identified two other stolen items among the articles on sale. One could have been a coincidence, but three, as the Lominsans said, was a smoking gun. 

The doors finally opened, and Mugi waited until most customers had left the building, the rest remaining to chat with their peers or gawk at the pieces displayed in the foyer, before walking calmly to the other man. “Tomikusa. Do you have a moment?”

The grey-haired man frowned. “Can’t it wait? I need to find Mistress Minori to arrange the security shifts until the buyers come to retrieve their wares.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Mugi took a deep breath, steeling himself for the man’s refusal or an admonishment, then continued in a hushed voice. “Three of the items sold at the auction correspond to the description of items stolen by the Turtle Thief.”

“Mugi…” Ah, there was the sigh preceding a tirade.

“Look,” he cut him off, “right now she might remember where she bought those items. A few weeks or months from now, who knows? Just, please ask her for me?”

That got Tomikusa’s attention. “Don’t you want to ask her yourself?”

“You’re the man in charge. Also,” Mugi smirked, “it would sound more official coming from you. Besides, the captain ordered _me_ not to.”

The man thought about it for a long moment, tapping his foot, then sighed again. “Fine. I’ll try, but no promises. What items were those again?”

“Number 35, a bachi. Number 42, a teapot. Number 57, a pipe box.”

“No need to disturb my mother. I can tell you about their provenance.”

Mugi almost jumped. Almost, but he limited himself to shivering from head to toe. Now he had an inkling of why Caran hated people sneaking at his back. 

Tomikusa bowed to the Au Ra, and Mugi turned to follow suit. “Master Nozomi. Forgive me, I did not hear you arrive.”

“I remember the articles of which you speak,” Nozomi continued, ignoring the apology, “they all came from one of our suppliers in Bukyo, part of a fallen lord’s treasury. As far as I know, they have never been in Kugane before today.”

“I see,” Mugi said, trying to hide his disappointment, “Well, I suppose it’s better to have a false lead removed so quickly than to follow it through only to find it’s a dead end.”

Nozomi nodded and turned, clearly considering the conversation over, then stopped after a single step. “Tell me, recruit. What interest have you in this Turtle Thief that you would continue investigating in spite of your captain’s orders? I’m curious.”

“He… he stole something from my sister. Something important.”

Nozomi turned to face him, and his severe gaze seemed to soften for a moment. “That is something I can understand. Keep in mind, however, that sometimes the past cannot be undone. Do not hang on to what has been lost at the expense of what is still there. But if you must persist in following this through, make sure that your skills match your ambitions.”

“My… ambitions?”

That sounded familiar. Why did it sound familiar?

“Just something that my father used to say. Take care, recruit.” The Au Ra nodded once in salute and left, leaving a perplexed Mugi to ponder on his words.

“Well, like mother like son, I suppose,” Tomikusa frowned, “Still, since that was a false lead and you did not actually ask him anything, I suppose there’s nothing to report to the captain… this time.”

“Uhm. Yeah, that’d be appreciated, thank you,” Mugi rubbed his head, chuckling awkwardly, and Tomikusa grinned in reply. 

“Why, for a minute there I thought you were going to accuse Minori of being involved with the thefts! Imagine what a mess that would have been! Now excuse me, but I really have to go organize those shifts.”

As Tomikusa left, Mugi remained rooted on the spot, shaken by the man’s words. It couldn’t be, and yet the doubt kept creeping inside his mind. Not Minori, but… 

_What if Nozomi was?_

Mugi won the first security shift, likely as recompense for his behaviour. Still, it was better than being ratted out to the Captain, and it gave him time to think.

Nozomi had told them that he fought with knives, and he could certainly move as silently as a shinobi. Nozomi conveniently stopped him from asking Minori about the suspect items. Nozomi had a freshly bandaged hand, and Sora’s sword had wounded the thief. And then there was that phrase… 

It had taken him a while to remember, since he had been under considerable pressure at the time, but it was nearly identical to what the Turtle Thief had told Yuko when she had threatened him.

It was all circumstantial evidence, true, but it was evidence nonetheless, and he had a good feeling about it. It felt true.

Most importantly, if Minori kept to her regular auction schedule, that meant there were at least a few weeks to investigate matters further before his staff ended up for sale. Not to mention a few days to find the best way to breach the topic with the Captain.

When Tomikuza came to relieve him of duty a few bells later, the man had a scroll open in front of him and looked like he could use a good nap. “Maybe if I move him to the afternoon… no, that doesn’t work either. Oh, Mugi, Ishizuki, you’re done for the day. You can go back to the barracks now.”

“Something wrong, Tomi?” Ishizuki asked, tucking a lock of his long hair behind his ear. 

“Nozomi has just informed me that there’s going to be another auction in three days’ time, and of course they want us to be there as well. I’m trying to find the people to cover both the shifts here and our regular patrols, but…” Tomikuza waved his free hand vaguely, and Ishizuki nodded. They all knew just how short staffed the Sekiseigumi was. 

Mugi paled, although for totally different reasons. What if Nozomi suspected that he suspected? What if he was trying to sell off the staff before it could be traced back to him?

“Uh, did he send a manifest for the new auction, perhaps? I saw some of the bidders had one today. Looks real fancy. It had _pictures_.“

“Angling for a souvenir, Mugi?” Ishizuki laughed, and Mugi joined him, hoping it didn’t sound too fake.

“Well, I certainly don’t have the money to bid on anything!”

If Tomikuza had suspicions, he limited them to a furrowing of his brows. “No, no manifest. They never tell _us_ what’s in the crates, even if we’re supposed to protect them and make sure nothing gets stolen. But shoo now! Go get some rest!”

But Mugi didn’t feel like resting. He felt rather excited, in fact. True, his window of opportunity had just shrunk considerably, but he still had a chance to fix his mistakes. 

The captain had been called into a meeting with a _metsuke_ , so Mugi had unexpectedly found himself with some time to kill. He knew he should have trained with his blade or done something equally useful, but truth to be told, he was having trouble keeping still from the mix of worry and excitement.

Perhaps he should go to the shop and check on Yuko, he told himself, or at least ask Mother how his sister was faring. He was bound to get a scolding for carrying Yuko into danger - once again very ironically, since he’d thought it would be the safest of their escapades - but if it wasn’t today then it would just be on the morrow, so he might as well get it done with.

The sky started clouding as he crossed the Rakuza district. By the looks of it, there was a good chance of rain later in the day, so he hurried his steps. He felt a number of eyes on him as he picked up the pace, as it always happened when he was on patrol with Kanba… except this time he wasn’t patrolling but merely trying to order his deductions into a plausible argument to present to the captain. Lost in that train of thought he bumped his shoulder against a passerby, who squealed an apology and dashed down a side street before Mugi could say “Sorry”.

Someone else muttered not too subtly about guards and samurai thinking they were better than common people, and all of a sudden Mugi felt way too visible, wishing he’d changed into his civilian clothes.

Sure, being blue and pointy-eared had always made him stand out in a crowd, but strangers would simply mistake him for a foreigner and move on. The deep red Sekiseigumi uniform, however, marked him clearly as someone who should belong, and yet he didn’t, not fully.

Oh, for the sweet bliss of being able to disappear in a crowd, seen and yet unseen at once.

 _Is that why Sora and Caran are here?,_ he asked himself, _Why they’re pretending to be common adventurers? To be invisible for a while?_

If they were, he certainly hadn’t done them a favor, getting them involved in all this mess. 

As he approached the ship he could hear someone shouting, so loud that Mugi could hear them from the next road over. 

He turned the corner and immediately retreated at the sight: it was not just _someone_ , but Kanba arguing with Caranraw and Sora right in front of the shop, with Aoki and Yuko looking on from the doorframe. 

Should he jump in? He’d probably have to take sides, and while he was not afraid to ally himself with his new friends - despite his unexpected show of affection the other night, Mugi always started from the assumption that Kanba was wrong - he didn’t know what sort of repercussions that would have on Yuko. He felt like a coward for taking the easy way out, but he was pretty sure that two skilled warriors could keep ahead of his stepfather even in a verbal fight.

He risked taking a peak and saw that his mother had stepped in and was trying to calm both sides down… well, mainly Kanba, although Sora had a hand firmly planted on Caran’s shoulder. And had Yuko just blinked at him? Maybe she had spotted him and maybe not, but if she did, she had not told the others, nor had she signaled for Mugi to reach them. As far as it concerned him, that was as good as a signal to retreat.

On his way back to the barracks he passed by the little restaurant - _one of these days I’ll have to learn its name_ , he thought, glancing at the faded sign - and thought of the lost mochi from the other night. He was a bit short on cash, but he still had enough to afford another order, and that was definitely another small thing that he could fix.

Making his way to the back, he knocked on the frame of the door that gave to the kitchens. “Hey Tome, you there?”

A skinny figure emerged from the kitchen, with a shock of wild hair kept barely in place by a headwrap. “Mugi, my man! Back so soon? Partake a little too much, did you?”

Mugi chuckled, shaking his head. “Nothing of the sort, unfortunately. Yesterday’s mochi were stamped on by a kojin. No, it actually happened: I was not high, and I have witnesses.”

“Whatever you say,” his friend said, grinning in obvious disbelief, “So you’re here for more? You’re in luck, I just made an extra special batch. I’m told there’s even some Ishgardian stuff in this mix, though I’m pretty sure they were just pulling my leg.” 

“I’m sold! I’ll take two baskets of regular and two of the special, then.”

“Same code, right? You coming for pickup as usual?”

Mugi pressed his lips. He had no idea how long the conversation with the captain was going to take, and he didn’t really want to risk being found with the stuff while wearing the uniform. “Delivery, if you can. To Sora and Caran at the Bokairo. And be sure to leave a note.”

“Oooh, are those your new _ijin_ friends? I saw them when you came here the other night. You’ve got to introduce me to the red-hair. He looks _rawr_.” Tome swiped at the air, fingers curled like a cat’s paw, and Mugi laughed. 

“Get in line, Tome! Those two are an item.”

“Aw, more’s the pity. By the way, remind me again: what was the code?”

“Pink ribbon on the special ones, no ribbon on the normal ones. Honestly, Tome, you came up with that one, so how is it that you keep forgetting?”

Tome scratched a spot below the left eye, gaze lost upwards. “Dunno. Head full of recipes, can’t keep much else in mind.”

“Tome!” a voice yelled from inside the kitchen, “Less dawdling and more cutting vegetables!”

“Gotta go!” Tome flashed a grin and a wink, disappearing inside the kitchen only to come back a moment later, “You said ribbon on the good ones, right?”

“Oh sweet kami, Tome, yes!”

“Just checking! Have fu-un! Oh, and I hope you’re still in for the Triple Triad tournament next week.”

Shite. He’d forgotten all about it and, to be honest, he wasn’t exactly in the mood for games. “Uh, sure. I just hope I’m not too rusty. Only Kyusen plays in the Sekiseigumi, and he’s not much of a challenge.”

Tome fished from a pocket a bunch of cards tied together with a piece of string and tossed them to Mugi. “Here, give him this deck. Even a goose should make for a worthy opponent with this one.” 

“Tome! I said now!” the voice from the kitchen yelled again and the young cook cowered.

“Whoops. Gotta go!”

Mugi rolled his eyes, chuckling to himself. Tome was one of a kind. Scatterbrained, for sure, but never dull, and one hell of a cook. 

He untied the string and looked at the cards: a Karakuri Hanya; a Pazuzu; a Hancock; an Asahi sas Brutus, whoever that was; and-

“Ooh, a Lord Hien! Sora will like this one.”

Pocketing the cards, he felt his spirits rising again. He could make reparations. He could fix things. Everything was going to be alright. 

Whistling a tune, he made his way to the barracks.

To her credit, the captain listened to him all the way to the end before burying her face in her hands. “One thing, Mugi. I asked you not to do one single thing.”

Mugi grimaced. “Technically, I didn’t ask-”

“Do you think that changes anything?” she said, not quite shouting, “I don’t think you understand the position we’re in, Mugi. A lot of the money in our coffers comes from Minori and other merchants like her who use their fortunes as a way to curry favour with the bugyo. Were she to retreat her support to the Sekiseigumi, then others would follow, and we would have to cut even more on food, or supplies, or employment, or just shut down altogether. It’s unjust, and unfair, and it makes my blood boil at times, but it’s how things are.”

Makoto rose from her seat and paced the room, Mugi following with his gaze but not willing to move from his spot.

“Your findings are interesting, but circumstantial. We need something more conclusively implicating if we are to accuse her son of theft, and for that we need to move cautiously, without showing our hand or alerting them to our intent. It’s just not something we can do in less than three days. It’s going to take weeks, or months, assuming we can find any strong evidence at all.”

Mugi’s hopes crumbled. “So… you’re not going to stop the auction?”

“I’m sorry, Mugi,” she shook her head, “as Sekiseigumi, our hands are tied. We’re not adventurers, and we’re tied by the laws of Kugane.”

“I see.” He slumped. Well, that was it. Yuko’s staff was as good as gone. Perhaps it was time to relinquish the past after all. “What is my next assignment, then? I assume that, given my behaviour, you will not want me anywhere near the next auction.”

“There will not be a next assignment.”

Mugi thought he couldn’t droop any further, but his heart almost stopped at the words. “Captain? What are you saying?”

“In your time as a recruit, you have racked up a considerable amount of insubordination. You skirt the rules, you lack discipline, and you openly defy authority the moment you take off your uniform. After last year’s attempted revolt, the Sekiseigumi are under heavy pressure. We cannot show the bugyo any sort of tolerance for seditious behaviour.” Captain Makoto took a deep breath, weighing her next words, but Mugi already knew in his heart what they were going to be.

“I’m suspending you, Mugi. From this moment, you’re officially not Sekiseigumi.”


	12. In which we turn back the clock and visit the markets

“When are you _not_ starving?” Mugi rolls his eyes and laughs, and some of my worry dissipates: though it will take time, that more than anything makes me sure that Mugi will soon recover and be back to his old self, although perhaps a little less carefree and a bit more jaded. 

We all go through that lesson in life. I should merely be glad that no one had to die for Mugi to learn it. 

_Who’s wallowing in his sorrows, now?,_ the little voice in the back of my head chastises me, annoyingly on point as always. I can’t keep Mugi wrapped in cotton wool merely because I’m still hurting from the sting of Zenos’ blade, and many more failures besides. And as long as he has laughter, he’ll always get through the grief and the rage.

Hien’s fingers brush with mine as I raise to my feet, his touch dissipating the clouds in my mind like the sun after the rain. “Is everything fine, my friend?”

“Merely wondering what meal I can eat without you two telling me I’m a glutton,” I say, and if Hien sees through the white lie, he’s kind enough not to mention it.

“I must say, I am feeling a certain amount of apprehension at the thought of Mugi going out there by himself.”

“I should point out that ‘by himself’ is not quite accurate, given that he’s surrounded by half a dozen of his peers… but I’m sharing the same feeling myself. I wonder, is this what parents feel when their children leave the nest?” Hien chuckles, crossing his arms and looking down the road where the Sekiseigumi detail has just disappeared.

“I would rather not think of Mugi as my _son_ , thank you. Aside from that… I suppose so? It’s not unlike when my squadron first ventured out again after Ala Mhigo. A bit of pride, a bit of relief, a whole lot of apprehension.” 

“How come?”, Hien asks, “Were they hurt so badly during the assault?”

I shake my head. “Not in body, no. Nothing that a healer couldn’t mend, anyway. They were hurt in the spirit, much like Mugi, although in the grander scale of war. It was quite different from the simple missions in the Twelveswood they were used to. The senseless deaths, the cannons, the explosions, the scale of devastation… It leaves scars. Scars you can’t describe unless you’ve been through the thick of it.” 

Hien remains silent, and my brain kicks me for forgetting that he bears such scars himself, having been through much of the same during the previous Doman rebellion. “Hien,” I whisper his name, “I never asked about the day you lost your father…”

“And I never volunteered the tale. As you said, some things leave scars in our souls,” his grave visage gives way to a small smile, and he pats my shoulder, “and I would not talk of such things on this day. We are still on vacation, so let us dwell on pleasant thoughts for a while more. Once we’re back in Doma, we can share our war stories, and you can tell me more about your squadron. I’d hoped to meet these protegés of yours after the battle…”

“They had to return to Gridania earlier than anticipated. And we were… busy.”

“Indeed,” Hien laughs loud enough to make Gosetsu proud, and a few heads turn in our direction, “sparring, and learning about the versatile properties of oil.”

“And saving me from my own fears and self-doubt, lest we forget.”

“I was trying not to bring that up. Spare your pride from another blow.”

It is my turn to laugh. “My pride can take a hit, particularly when it’s deserved: I’ve been given these large shoulders for a reason. But as you said, I’d prefer to dwell on pleasant thoughts and making new memories.”

“In that case,” Hien says, “I would begin by stalking the markets. You have bought the lord of Doma a gift, so it’s only right that he returns the favour.”

“I’m regretting this already.”

“Oh, hush you!” We grin, and he tugs toward the market stalls. “I promise it will be nothing _too_ embarrassing…”

Hien brings me all over the market streets, making me try clothes and hats and necklaces and then even more hats. 

“Dear, I know that I have a thing for fancy headgear, but I draw the line at wearing a basket over my face.” I look at Hien chuckle through the straw grid on the front of the basket-hat. “How do people even walk around in these things? There’s no peripheral vision at all.“

“It is worn by mendicant monks, and it represents the absence of ego as they practice meditation by playing their flutes. One could say it’s perfect headgear for a bard.”

I take the thing off, shoving it perhaps a little too unkindly in the arms of the seller. “An interesting concept, but I prefer visibility over anonymity. I’m more likely to shoot an arrow into an ally than an enemy in this getup.”

Hien nods, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing. “Understood. Well, then let us look for something else, shall we?”

“I’d better get a massage at the hot springs out of all this,” I grumble as we head to the next stall offering jewelry and apparel, “I didn’t know that you had such a shopping bug, or I would have suggested Ul’dah as our travel destination.”

“To be honest, it is a new discovery for me as well. It is not often that I get the opportunity to acquire things for myself, bereft of outside restrictions.”

“What about your time in Reunion?”

“Ah,” he says with a sheepish smile, “then I was bereft of coin. I helped trade what was necessary for the Mol and nothing more. Given that I was already abusing their hospitality, it would have felt unjust to buy anything more just for myself.”

“I see.” I take my eyes off of him to peruse the merchandise, my fingers hovering over an array of rings and necklaces. “And now that you have this power, you are using it to dress me up like your personal mannequin instead of choosing something for yourself?”

Hien grabs my hand, picking up ring after ring to see if they complement my skin colour, and finding them all wanting. “Ah, but here’s the thing: having you all dressed up for my viewing pleasure is very much a treat for myself. And do not try to tell me that it doesn’t count, given the outfit you have chosen for me.” 

He tugs at his freshly bought undershirt, which sadly covers his chest from the rest of the world. “What can I say? I like you so much that I want the rest of the star to know just how beautiful you are.”

“Flatterer. Ah, there we are! Try this on.” Hien hands me a comma-shaped necklace made of a red stone of some sort, hanging from a black cord looped around the hole in its middle. After a nod from the vendor I tie it round my neck and Hien hums approvingly. “I dare say it suits you quite well, and it will match perfectly with your Yanxian dogi.”

I take a sharp breath. “Yes, about that dogi. I’m afraid it met a terrible demise.” Specifically, I burned it to ashes after it refused to come clean of Zenos’ blood, no matter how much and how hard I scrubbed at the cloth. 

“I had wondered what had happened to it. But if that’s the case, that merely gives me an excuse to buy you a new one… or a dozen.” Hien pays for the necklace, looking way too satisfied about this development.

“Don’t say that in the proximity of Kozakura, or she may start a whole fashion district at the Enclave merely to enable you.”

“Which you would fund beyond her allotted budget, I am sure, wholly defeating the point of giving you a gift,” he laughs, “No, I daresay that carpenters, smithies, and paper makers are more than enough crafts for the Yard. We may fit a weaver’s district into a further expansion, perhaps beyond the demesne…”

“And that’s enough homework for you today. No zoning plans while on vacation!” 

“Blame yourself for bringing up the topic, then. Ah, is that not Yuko? Are we near the porcelain shop she and her mother work at?”

I take my eyes off of Hien and follow his gaze into the crowd. Indeed, those seem to be Yuko’s curls alright. “Looks like she’s returning from an errand. Let’s go and say hello.”

We cut through the throng, coming up to her just as she crosses the threshold of the shop. “Yuko! Hey, Yuko, wait up!”

Yuko turns at her name, her eyes widening in surprise. “Caran, Sora! What are you doing here?”

“Merely perusing the markets,” Hien replies, “like the foreign visitors we’re supposed to be. How about you? How are you faring?”

Yuko casts a look inside the shop, dodging the question. “I thought you’d be with Mugi.”

“We just left him. We trained with him all morning, but he had a different assignment for the rest of the day.” Hien furrows his brows, trying to follow her gaze. “Is anything wrong?”

“Look, I don’t want to be impolite, but this is not the best moment for you two to be here. Perhaps if you came back later?”

If that phrase was meant to lessen our worries, it does a really piss poor job of it. Before we can reply, however, another familiar voice reaches us from inside the shop. “Yuko? What’s keeping you, girl?”

The voice is soon followed by an equally familiar bushy moustache, and the man attached to it. “You!”, the lieutenant spits as he sees us, with evident scorn on his face, “You have some nerve showing your face here after last night. Haven’t you done enough harm already?”

Yuko shrinks against the doorframe, and it’s clear now that she was trying to steer us away and avoid this exact confrontation.

“Now dear, that’s hardly fair. I would say the thief is the one to blame, is it not?” Aoki peeks her head from behind Kanba, giving us a serene smile and a wave of her hand, uncaring of her husband’s sour mood or, perhaps, trying to defuse it. “‘Tis good to see you again, Caranraw. And this handsome youth must be Sora, the samurai from Doma.”

Hien bows courteously, not wholly immune to the compliment. “In the flesh. I presume you’re Yuko and Mugi’s mother. It is my pleasure to meet you.”

“Quit your pretty words, boy. ‘Tis clear they carry no weight.” Kanba takes a step forward, placing himself between us and Yuko, one hand resting uneasily on his scabbard. “You will do better to leave this city and never cross paths with these children again. If the captain weren’t so doting on you, I would have you thrown straight in jail, or worse.”

“What, again? It didn’t work the first time,” I jab, knowing full well it’s the worst thing I could say, but in my defense, the man really gets on my nerves. 

_Oh gods, I sound like Alisaie._

“This is what I’m talking about!” Kanba jabs a finger at my chest, growling, “You have no respect for our rules, our traditions, our authorities! Like all _ijin_ , you think your way of things is so superior that you can just waltz in and do whatever you want, shirking all the rules. After all, you’ll be gone in a few days! What’s the problem if you help a thief flee from justice? What if you climb roofs in the night like thieves-”

Yuko gasps, turning to Aoki with a vicious glare. “Mother! You told him?” 

“Not now, dear.”

“‘Not now’ my arse! We had a pact!”

“Language, girl!”

Kanba shoots them a look, then continues with his tirade, punctuating each sentence with a poke at my sternum. “What if you meddle in an investigation? What if you buy treats for the barracks? What if you fill a boy’s head with lies and nonsense about Western fairy tales? _What if you get my children hurt?_ ”

Several people in the street stop and turn in our direction, but a sharp glance from Kanba and Sora is enough to make them turn the other way and go back to their respective business. My eyes, however, stay firmly affixed on the lieutenant, who isn’t quite finished yet. 

“Soon you will be gone”, Kanba says, coming close enough that I can smell his breath, “and all your pretty favors and special treatments will be gone with you, and then I and the other Sekiseigumi will be left to pick up the pieces and nurse Murenogi back to reality and out of your fanciful tales of heroes and rich adventurers. And as if that weren’t enough, you lost something precious to Yuko because of your carelessness and your encouragement of the boy’s worst impulses. Don’t think you did either of them any favour, stranger, because you did not. You and your ilk just love to stroke your own egos, and leave naught but disaster in your wake. But go ahead, justify yourself. I’m really eager to hear what you have to say in your defense.”

My first instinct is to break his face in. I may not be the world’s greatest pugilist, but I wouldn’t even need my himantes to bash him to a pulp. Perhaps I’m clenching my fists or grinding my teeth because there’s a brief flash of panic on the lieutenant’s face, before he steels himself again into resolve. 

Then Hien’s hand lands gently on my shoulder, and all my rage dissipates under his touch. Kanba is not the enemy: he’s merely a worried stepfather trying to do well for his children. And though his arguments may be flawed, they come from a place of real concern.

I could just let it drop. I could ease his worries. And yet… a little voice inside of me wants to say something else, and I see no reason to silence it.

After a tense moment I gently nudge his finger away from my sternum, stare right back at him, and take a deep breath.

“Tomorrow I may die.”

Kanba blinks a few times, speechless, clearly not expecting me to start off with that. 

“Tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that. Each day I’m called to battle against gods, and armies, and beings whose powers I scarcely begin to comprehend. I have lost everything more than once, I’ve spent more time in infirmaries having my skin stitched back together than I care to remember, I’ve been cut, I’ve been beaten, I’ve bled my soul out, I’ve seen friends die, I’ve skirted death by a hair’s breadth a thousand times… and yet each day I still go back into the fray, knowing that each time I fight may be the last. All it takes is a stray arrow, or a sharp lance, or a magic bolt. And that’s why, in my few days of rest, in these rarest of occasions when no one is demanding anything of me and I can just do whatever it damn well pleases me, I do my utmost to make the lives of my friends _better_.” 

I don’t notice that I’m advancing on Kanba, as I don’t notice that he’s slowly retreating with his hands primed on his katana. 

“All my gil will do me no good once I’m dead, so what if I spend some of it on tea for the barracks? What if I buy someone a fancy dinner, a necklace, a good sword, a ferry ride to Yanxia? What if I funnel a king’s bounty into rebuilding a war-torn nation? If it makes these people’s lives easier for a short while, if it makes my friends feel appreciated, if it puts a smile on the face of the people I love, then what godsdamned right have you to question my actions and my motives, huh? What would you have me do? Let’s hear it, lieutenant. Would you have me leave this star as dour and miserable as you have found it? I thought improving this world was why one joined the Sekiseigumi in the first place, or am I wrong about that too?”

I spit out the last words, towering over him and glowering. A small throng has once again formed around us, the air vibrating with people wondering aloud who will draw steel first between the two of us.

Kanba’s hand tightens on the blade’s handle. For a moment I truly wonder if this is going to end in yet another fight, and then… 

And then his grip relaxes, and he sighs. “You claim to have fought the kami, and from anyone else I would say it’s empty bragging or madness, but I can see only truth in your eyes. You are no common adventurer, _ijin_. Who are you, truly?”

“The Warrior of Light,” someone says behind me, “Champion of Eorzea, Hero of Ishgard, Liberator of Ala Mhigo, Defender of Doma, Khagan of the Steppe… am I forgetting anything?”

I turn to face the source of the voice, a tall, thin Au Ra with crimson skin and fawn horns, dressed in fanciful Eorzean clothes and yet sporting an unmistakably Hingan katana at his side. 

My bitter grimace turns to a slim smile. “Another two dozen titles or so, I believe. Not that I ever cared much for them. But you have me at a disadvantage.”

“Tohya, an errant samurai,” the man bows, “I believe we have a mutual acquaintance in Makoto.”

“That’s ‘Captain Makoto’ for you,” Kanba retorts, and Tohya silences him with a glare.

“I believe it is her right, not yours, to choose who can address her by her given name, Lieutenant. And I see you have not shed your habit of speaking out against any and all foreigners during my absence. I suppose ‘tis good to have certainties in life, even if they’re not wholly pleasant. Now, perhaps we should continue this inside?”

Kanba looks around, taking stock of the assembled crowd, and nods. “Perhaps it is wiser.”

Aoki corrals us to the storage area at the back of the store, showing us a few empty crates we can bring together to use as makeshift seats. 

The simple act of moving away from the street eases some of the tension, but no one seems to be willing to cut through the silence that follows. Hien gives me a gentle nudge, and I sigh: “Right. So, uh. I meant what I said. I understand that you may have trouble believing it, but I truly do care for Mugi and Yuko, and I am sorry for what happened last night. We failed to defend the siblings, and-”

"Oh, shut up!" 

The unexpected interruption comes from Yuko, who is standing with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. "Honestly, it would be very appreciated if all of you stopped talking about us as if we were not adults, particularly when we're in the room. Mugi got himself captured because he split from the group, and I relinquished the staff because I didn’t want anyone, including you and Sora, to be hurt over a stupid _object_ ! We did those things! Not you. So stop arguing about it as if it doesn’t have anything to do with us. Caran and Sora are not responsible for last night: the Turtle Thief is,” the next phrase is shouted in Kanba’s face, her index finger wagging right under his nose, “but _you_ are responsible for pushing Mugi down a path he never really cared for under the vague promise that it would get me into some school for mages. And you,” she turns to Aoki, “are responsible for breaking our trust as soon as you got a little worried, and _you_ ,” she turns finally to us, “are responsible for not telling Mugi the truth from the start! We are all responsible of something here, so let’s cut through the shite-”

“Language!”

“-shite _exactly_ like that, mother, and let us figure out where to go from here.”

“Ooh, I like this one. She’s spunky!” Tohya smirks from his spot, which earns him a glare from Yuko, and he raises his hands in defeat. 

Hien and I trade a look, wondering exactly what the girl meant by ‘the truth’. She certainly heard the samurai call me the Warrior of Light, but does that mean she also figured out who Hien really is? “Yuko-” I start, but she cuts me off.

“I’m serious. You must have seen it from the very first night that Mugi wasn’t cut out for a life in the Sekiseigumi. Why did you agree to help him down that path?”

Sora brushes my wrist, signalling that he’s going to answer this one. “It is not our habit to tell people what they should or should not do with their lives. We helped him because Captain Makoto asked us to, and on the off-chance that Mugi would come to that realization himself. And also because… he already knew that very well, but he sincerely believed that it was the best way to improve your life.” 

Yuko keeps silent for a moment, clenching and opening her left fist, and eventually exhaling a big sigh. “That stubborn… Right. So, here’s what we’re going to do. We are going to stop shifting blame about last night. We - that is, the Sekiseigumi - are going to see if anything can be done about that thief. And we - as in me, Mother, and Kanba - are going to have a long and _extremely supportive_ talk with Mugi about his future in the force. And then we’ll start talking about the future _I_ want for myself.” The girl stares down everyone in the room, daring any of us to disagree, and for once, even Kanba has nothing to interject.

Tohya raises a hand. “What about me? What do I do?”

“To be honest, I’m not exactly sure why you’re here in the first place. Or who you are, even.”

“Oh, right! I was looking for the Warrior of Light. My friend Momozigo heard he was in Kugane and all but ordered me to give him the first draft of a play he’s writing about his adventures,” he says, then turns to me with an apologetic smirk, “in the hopes that you can address any inaccuracies with him the next time you find yourself in Ul’dah. ”

“He must be the Captain’s storyteller friend, I imagine. The one with the research folder,” I say to the Au Ra and he nods, the smirk widening into a smile. I think about it for a moment and then give a nod of my own. “I suppose it would not hurt to have an authorized version of the tale out there, given all the, ah, _artistic liberties_ that the Wandering Minstrel loves to spin on those yarns. But please, call me Caranraw: the Warrior of Light is… someone who is not quite me. For starters, they all think he’s taller.”

I sense Kanba’s eyes on me, as the man slowly starts to look at me under a different light. “So you are… someone important where you come from? Some sort of renowned hero? Is that why the Captain entrusted you with Mugi’s training?”

“That I am, though mainly because I’m not smart enough to say ‘no’ whenever someone comes asking for help. You know how it goes: you start by investigating a tree stump in a forest, and soon enough you find yourself saving a few countries from destruction.”

Tohya laughs from his corner. “It’s not usually that steep of a rise… though I may not be one to talk, given that I was trained in the way of the samurai by a legendary Hingan swordmaster that I just chanced to meet at the Coliseum in Ul’dah. Fate works in mysterious ways.”

Kanba mulls on our words, the world rearranging itself in his mind. “I suppose the Captain intended there to be a lesson for me as well. ‘Tis no surprise to anyone in this room that I am wary of foreign influence in Kugane, and that blinds me to the good that can come from the single, unique people that come to our fair city. Perhaps she meant for me to see the value in you without telling me about your deeds.”

“Well, that is all well and nice,” Aoki says, jumping down from her crate, “but it happens that I still have a shop to look after, and all that porcelain and jade is not going to sell itself. Can we call a truce for now and reconvene here later to discuss things when Murenogi is also present? Good? Good. Everyone, go home now. No, not you, Yuko, I still need your help with those Thavnairian plates…“

* * *

“Well. That was…”

“Intense?”

“I was going to say ‘nuts’ but yes, that works as well.” 

After agreeing to Aoki’s plan, we all went our separate ways: Kanba back to his patrols; Tohya, having saddled me with Momozigo’s hefty manuscript, to visit the Captain at the barracks; and us to our room at the Bokairo. 

“I must confess, I did not expect Moustache to become so reasonable after finding out about your identity,” Hien says, “If anything, I expected him to push back even harder against your influence. Perhaps your humility surprised him.”

“Perhaps it was my earlier shouting in his face and the vague threat of bodily harm. While I do not like titles, I am truly not _that_ humble,” I nudge Hien’s shoulder with mine and grin, “And I see that nickname is catching on.”

“It is a rather remarkable amount of lip hair, that I can’t deny.”

A shadow passes over us, and I raise my eyes to the sky. Clouds seem to be gathering over the city, preluding rain in the night. “Either way, there’s nothing for us to do but wait right now, so… one more dip in the hot springs before the weather sours?”

“And a nice massage as well for being such a delightful shopping partner?” Hien smirks, elbowing me in the side, and I shove him playfully in return.

“After such a spontaneous offer? How could I ever say no!”

“Ah, that was delightful.. And it looks like we came back right in time: it’s starting to rain buckets out there.” 

Hien looks out of our balcony window, rubbing his hair dry with a towel, and I look at him in the half light, half of his face reflecting the gloom outside, and the other lit by the dancing reflections of the fire pit. After a moment he turns to me with a soft smile, wrapping the towel about his shoulders. “What is it? Is there something on my face?”

“Merely your exceedingly stunning beauty. I will never get tired of looking at you, my love.”

I will also never tire of seeing him blush, either. 

He crosses the room to where I’m standing and plants a kiss at the base of my neck, then turns his eyes to the other thing that is catching my attention: a stack of four bamboo baskets, two of which beribboned, with a folded note on top.

“Those baskets look familiar. Did the innkeep tell you who delivered them?”

I shake my head. “He said it was a skinny youth he’d never seen before. I think we can take a guess as who sent them and what’s inside, though.”

“I bet five _koban_ on ‘Mugi’ and ‘mochi’.”

I open one and admire the array of multicolored balls of rice flour inside. “Looks like we have a winner. I wonder if we’ll be able to eat at least one before something happens?”

Hien leans his chest against my back, wrapping an arm lazily around me, and steals the note with his free hand. “We could get a head start. It says here to wait for Mugi and respect the code, whatever that means, but I’m sure he won’t notice one or two missing if we arrange the remainder carefully.”

“Hmm, breaking rules and lying about it. Mugi is truly a terrible influence on you!” I laugh, tipping my head back to try and steal a kiss, but Hien retreats with a sly smile. 

“Careful. We don’t want to be found again ‘sparring’ when he arrives, don’t we?”

“Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

I get the note thrown at my face for the joke, followed by a searing kiss.

“I’m getting mixed signals here,” I say as our lips part, foreheads pressed together.

“It’s for the way you stood up to the Lieutenant. That speech reminded me all over of why I fell in love with you.” 

“He needed a dressing down. And I believe I should thank you for holding me back from doing more.”

“I merely put a hand on your shoulder.”

“You never need to apply force to make me follow your every order, my lord.”

His brows quirk, and the sly smile widens. “…every order?”

“Mixed signals again.”

Hien chuckles, taking a reluctant step back. “I’m keeping that in mind for later. Now, perhaps we should clean around before our unexpected guest arrives. I realize he likely won’t notice, but-”

There’s a somber knock at the door of our room, taking us both by surprise.

“Odd. Such a coy salutation does not sound like Mugi, and the innkeep wouldn’t just let anyone through. Do you know anyone else who might be calling on us?”

“Not to my knowing. But there’s an easy way to find out,” I say as I grab my bow, and Hien frowns. 

“If it’s the Turtle Thief, I’m rather sure he won’t bother with knocking, my love.”

“Yeah, yeah, you say that now…”

Hien shakes his head and slides the door open. Mugi is standing right outside, clothes wet from the rain, eyes fixed on the floor, tightly gripping the cord of a bag slung over his shoulder. “Hello,” he says, his usual cheerful voice nothing more than a hushed whisper, “I could really use that hug now.”


	13. In which our heroes find what makes the mochi special

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, half the reason why this fic exists was so I could write this scene. XD

Mugi didn’t know where to go. He couldn’t go home, that much was for sure. Going home meant facing Mother, Yuko, and… gods, he’d have to face Kanba too. There was no way he could do that, not today. 

Perhaps he could crash at Tome’s place? Assuming Tome had a place and didn’t just live in a room above the restaurant. He’d never asked, and it felt crass to only inquire about it now when he needed a favor. 

Maybe he could take the boat, find some sheltered beach or cove, and spend the night there? Perhaps things would look different in the morning. 

The sky rumbled, and Mugi raised his head to look at the thickening clouds. Well, so much for that idea. 

Maybe it was for the better, though. After last night, bonfires on the beach didn’t sound half as fun anymore. 

He wandered the streets of Kugane for a while longer, with no real goal or destination except to steer well clear of Mother’s shop. Hostels and tea houses started lighting their lamps, gladly-dressed youths inviting the passersby to come inside, take a rest, and sample the wares. Mugi shook his head at all of them. Even if he’d been in the mood for that, he didn’t have enough money on him. 

Hells, why couldn’t he have waited until payday to get himself expelled?

A drop fell on his head, then another. He barely had time to hide under an awning before the rain turned to a deluge, splattering the streets with a deafening roar.

The owner of the shop under whose awning he had taken shelter took pity on him and told him he could stay for a time, but after half a bell it was clear that the rain had no intention to abate. 

“It looks like it’s going to rain all night,” the owner sighed, “Good thing I have a room in the back.” For a moment it looked like he could extend Mugi an invitation to come inside but, without the uniform, he was just a random, weird, blue boy; after an awkward wave, the man shut the doors of the shop closed and hunkered inside. 

_Well, I wanted anonymity and I got it. The timing sucks, though._

Mugi shivered. Between the rain and the nighttime, it was starting to get really cold. He’d better find some shelter soon.

He looked at this surroundings through the raging downpour, trying to figure out where exactly he was in town. Just at the end of the street, to the right of a flight of stairs, he spotted a large, familiar sign. Mugi had passed it by often enough in his life that he didn’t need to make out the letters to know what it said: Seaview Springs - _Bokaisen_.

Sora and Caran were just a short jog away. But he couldn’t impose on them any more, could he? And yet… if the kami were trying to send him a sign, it could scarcely get clearer than this.

Mugi checked that his bag was firmly closed, silently thanking his younger self for buying one of waterproof gyuki skin, took a deep breath, and started running.

The innkeep of the Bokairo turned up his nose at Mugi’s entrance, a wet, blue chicklet dripping water all over the lobby. His patience grew even thinner after Mugi said that no, he was not there to rent a room, only to visit some friends. 

“Oh, what have we here? Say, aren’t you that Sekiseigumi lad that’s always running about with Caranraw?”

Mugi turned his head and found Amaji, the manager of the hot springs, looking him up and down with a mix of pity and amusement. 

“I… uhm, yes. That is me. Murenogi.” 

“That’s right. I knew you looked familiar. Ushitora!”, he shouted at the innkeep, “fetch this boy a towel and then show him in.”

“But-”

“No buts! Any friends of my _ijin_ errand boy are… well, not friends of mine, no, but we’re not going to let them catch their death in the rain either.”

A few minutes later, still damp but at least not shedding whole puddles on the tatami, Mugi found himself knocking at the door of Sora and Caranraw’s room. 

He had run in his head many versions of the conversation to come, trying to figure out how to best explain what had happened and why he was there, but the truth was, he’d simply done everything wrong. He’d messed it all up time and again. And now he was begging for help from some friendly foreigners who had come to Kugane to get some respite from their hardships and, instead, had been forced to handle a lot more than they’d expected. 

Mugi could feel the tears welling up in his eyes and choked them back. He would not be surprised if they greeted his arrival with some hostility, but he’d exhausted all other options. 

The door opened, and he found himself face to face with a frowning Sora and the sharp end of Caranraw’s bow. 

…perhaps it was more than _some_ hostility.

He gripped the cord of his bag tightly, the words coming out as nothing more than a whisper. “Hello. I could really use that hug now.”

He was wrapped in Caran’s arms barely after completing the phrase, his face pressed so tight on the big man’s chest that he had trouble breathing for a few moments. Eventually the embrace softened and Mugi found himself ushered inside by two strong hands, Caran on one side, Sora on the other. 

“Tea, my friend?” he heard Sora ask, and it took him a moment to realize that this time it meant him, not Caran, and from the inflection on his words there was also the hint that something stronger than tea may have been offered if needed. 

“Yes, please,” he said, opting for the safest choice. Alcohol was for good, fun days, when there was no risk in losing a bit of your clarity. This wasn’t one of them. 

They sat around the raised fire pit, Caran next to him, one arm still on his shoulders providing weight and comfort. Neither of them asked what was ailing him. They probably thought it was the shock from the other night finally rearing up its head. And maybe there was part of that, too, but the fresher wound was the one that hurt more. Why did it feel so awful to lose a job he didn’t even want in the first place? 

Perhaps because he was finally starting to be good at it. Perhaps because it was the other leg supporting his plan for Yuko’s future, and while a mage’s staff could be replaced, a samurai’s social standing could not. 

Perhaps because he had disappointed the people who believed that he could do it.

A steaming mug of tea was placed in front of him, along with a plate full of round, pastel-colored cakes. He bit one absent-mindedly, barely tasting the sweet bean paste spreading on his tongue and palate, chewing and chewing until the act itself ceased to have meaning. At some point he found that his hands were free; he must have eaten the other half, though he didn't remember when. He was also wearing different clothes. They fit large on him. Why was he wearing different clothes?

The rain. It was raining. He was damp. His hair still was. He could feel it, sticky on his head. Someone must have helped him out of his wet clothes and offered him a change. 

“These are good,” Caran said, conversationally, “I can see why you call them special.”

Sora nodded, licking his fingers clean of the sticky rice dough. “Indeed. But you didn’t make them, did you? Not to imply that you couldn’t, but I’m not sure when you could have found the time today.”

Mugi shrugged, that detail not feeling very important right now. Despite the tea and the fire and the strong arm around him, he felt as if there was a heavy, cold blanket padding him away from the rest of the world. 

_Numb. The word is numb._

“Would you like to tell us what’s wrong?”

He shook his head.

“Do you want us to find your family, or the captain?”

 _Gods, no._ He shook his head again, vehemently.

A pause. “Do you want to stay here for the night?” 

_Yes._ He shrugged.

“Well, you can’t go back outside, not with the way it’s raining. I’ll take that as a yes.”

 _Thank you._ Shrug.

He wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed. When he next blinked, the mug was almost empty, and the plate had been refilled with more mochi. 

“Would you like me to tell you a story?” Caran asked, with such worry and tenderness in his voice that Mugi felt something snap in him that had been taut all that time and he slumped, collapsing against the other man and, possibly, sniffling on his shirt. 

“Yes, please.”

They moved away from the fire pit and to the bedside rug, which Sora had covered in so many pillows and blankets that it was likely more comfortable than the thin, Western-style mattress. They sat with their back against the bed, Mugi in the middle, still snuggling against the comfortable shape of Caran. A small part of him was relieved that Sora was sitting apart, though still at arm's length: the man’s touch would probably unravel him. Or make him explode. Did people explode? He’d read in a journal that some people had burst spontaneously into fire, though he was quite sure there was some simple aetheric explanation for it. 

“Where were we? Right, headed to Azys Lla. Luckily, the Warrior’s friend Cid came to the rescue once more, lending him his formidable airship and figuring out a way to access the floating continent even without the key…”

Mugi closed his eyes, only half-listening to the tale, though still following the beats of it. The search, the marvels, the unexpected discoveries, the final confrontation with Thordan and the knights of the Heaven’s Ward. 

That’s where the night would have usually ended, leaving him wanting for more on his way back to the barracks, but he had no barracks to come home to anymore, and so the tale went on. There were Warriors of Darkness, and the salvation of another world. There was a Griffin, and a desperate battle which turned out to be a ruse, a massacre to fuel the birth of a primal. There was another sacrifice, which did little more than delay the monstrous god of vengeance. There were the first, tentative steps to free the land of Gyr Abania from Imperial control. 

There was a man called Zenos yae Galvus. Caran didn’t really want to talk about him. Said it wasn’t the right day to tell that part of the story in detail.

“…and so we came up with our two-thronged approach: if we could only press the Empire on both sides, split their forces without giving them time to recover, then the Ala Mhigan resistance could stand a chance. And so we made our first, long journey to Kugane…”

More adventures. More misadventures. New friendships, new fledgling alliances. Mugi noticed that Sora kept covering his mouth when Caran spoke of paying the Ruby Tithe, though he wasn’t sure why. 

The plate of mochi was passed around a second time. He ate one, maybe two. They were tasty. 

They got to Doma, where they received a less than warm welcome. Despite everything, though, the fires of revolution might yet have been stoked, if only they could find Lord Hien. And so they journeyed to the Azim Steppe.

“And there we found him, on a hill overlooking Reunion and the Sea of Blades, and from the moment I first heard his voice I knew that he was special. He had fire. He had steel. And then he rose, and he turned, and I looked into his marvelous grey-green eyes, and I knew I would be following that man into the darkest depths of the Void if I had to.”

“Hmm,” Sora hummed, marking the first time he’d intervened since the start of the narration, “I don’t remember you falling for him right then and there, though I suppose it was a rather striking introduction.”

Caran roared in laughter, far louder than the joke warranted in Mugi’s opinion. 

“Fine. Ahem. ‘And I looked into his marvelous grey-green eyes, and I knew that I wanted to slam him on the ground and nail him all the way to Doma and back and make him scream my name in lust’. I only fell in love with him afterwards, as we trained for Bardam’s Mettle and the Naadam. Better?”

Sora giggled. Actually giggled. “Much better. Quite accurate. You did take your time telling him what you felt, though. You almost ran out of time.”

“I’m a shy boy.”

That caused another fit of giggles. Mugi blinked, feeling he was missing some context. Had he slept through part of the story? And why… 

He turned to Sora, his words somewhat slurred, “I thought you two were together.”

“We are.”

“And you’re fine? About what he’s saying? Of the lord of Doma?” It was getting hard to say complete phrases all at once, for some reason. He was feeling really groggy.

Caran snorted, and Sora grinned like a big feline. “I’m very invested in the happiness of the Lord of Doma. Even though his partner is sometimes rather crude.”

“You like crude. In bed, at least.”

“Nevermind that.”

Mugi was utterly confused. He was rather sure that his mouth was just hanging open, waiting for his brain to find the words to fill the gap. 

Sora leaned toward Caran, pressing a hand on Mugi’s thigh in a way which was likely accidental but still sent a lightning jolt through Mugi’s nerves. The man’s _jinbei_ fell partly open, revealing hints of his chest underneath. Mugi blushed, though he didn’t know why. He’d seen Sora in his smallclothes when they were bathing. Why did a fleeting sliver of flesh feel more arousing than that? 

“Tell me, master Greyhame, then,” Sora said, deep and throaty, “which one do you like more? Sora the Samurai, or Hien Lord of Doma?”

Caran leaned forward as well, closing the space between them. “Well, I do like your hair color…”

“I will not be keeping this dye.”

“More’s the pity.”

“Though I may keep the clothes.”

“I approve-mphf!”

Whatever Caran was going to say next was interrupted by Sora’s tongue sliding in his mouth in a rather slobbery and noisy kiss. Mugi retreated as far as possible, which wasn’t much considering that he had a bedframe at his back. He was not quite sure what was happening - well no, he knew _what_ , just not how, exactly they’d arrived there - but he thought that Lord Hien must have been something very special to-

_Special._

The word meant something. The word had a warning attached to it. _Why was special important?_

“Oh shite.”

The kiss broke, the two men suddenly staring at him in concern. “Mugi? What-”

“The mochi. Where did you get the mochi?”

“What do you mean? They’re the ones you sent us.”

 _Double shite._ He jumped to his feet. Too quickly. Bad move. “Which basket did you open? Did you read the note?” 

He searched the room for the bamboo baskets as the two men exchanged bewildered looks. “We put out a mix of both? There was something about respecting a code, but we weren’t sure what it meant.”

“Triple shite!” Wait, had he just said that out loud? “Stop eating! Put them away now! How many did we eat? This is bad.”

“Mugi, you’re not making any sense.”

He turned to them as they, too, staggered awkwardly to their feet. “Gods, why did I trust Tome with writing the note? The ones with the ribbon were the special mochi. You were only supposed to eat _one_! Under supervision!”

Caran tilted his head. “And… why?”

“Oh, blessed kami, come on! They’re edibles!”

Sora blinked slowly, like a cat. “Yes, that’s what you call something you can eat. Why shouldn’t they be?”

“There’s ‘hemp’ in them,” Mugi said very slowly.

“I thought it was beans?”

 _Thaliak, give me strength._ “You can’t possibly be… It’s drugs! They’re drugged munchies!”, he hissed, and that finally seemed to get their attention.

“Drugs?” Caran shouted, and Mugi signaled frantically for him to lower his voice.

“Yes! What did you think made them so special?!”

“I don’t know. The filling?”

Mugi hid his face behind his hands. This was not happening. He was not making his worst day infinitely more worse. Worser. Worsererer. _Shite, it’s taking effect. It probably has for a while._

“Mugi.” Sora clasped his shoulders, looking suddenly very serious. “I’m not mad. I understand things did not go how you had planned. But I need you to tell me what sort of drugs we have taken, and what we should be expecting.”

“Ooh, hemp, I get it! Like ‘spice’, or ‘Althyk Lavender’, or that ‘odd herb’ the Namazu are always on about,” Caran said, punctuating the euphemisms with a gesture with the index and middle fingers of both hands that Mugi didn’t recognize. He seemed really satisfied that he had figured it out. 

“Not helping right now, my love.”

“Sorry.”

Mugi felt the panic rising. A part of him knew that it was just the effect of the trip, amplifying his emotions beyond comfortable levels and sending him spiralling. The other part, which was currently racing to a heart attack, wasn’t exactly sure how knowing this information was going to be helpful in any way. “Uhm. Heightened emotions. Hunger. Laughing for no reason. Hallucinations, maybe? I dunno. I don’t know how much stuff we took. I’m sorry! It’s nothing illegal! Not here, at least. Just… frowned upon. And I meant to tell you before you tried them, I’m not that… that… huh.” He leaned to the left, squinting. “Caran. Did you know there’s someone at your back?”

“What? Where?” Caran whipped his head left and right, pawing at his back, trying to find the mysterious stranger. “I don’t see anyone. Where are they?”

Sora narrowed his eyes like Mugi, then nodded several times more than necessary. “I see him. He looks like you, although a lot more dour. I wonder what made him so grumpy. Oh! He’s making a shushing sign. I think we weren’t supposed to know about him.” The samurai repeated the sign, putting a finger in front of his lips. Mugi did the same. After a moment, Caran did as well. 

“Why are we all standing like this?”, the big man asked after a few minutes.

“I’m not sure,” Sora said, dragging the words, “We were talking about something.”

“Oh, yes. The drugs. How long do they take to wear off?”

“A few hours? Sleeping on it is usually enough. But you mixed the mochi and maybe we took a lot and it may last longer and we may crash hard and I’m sorry I’m so sorry-”

“Mugi…”

“-I wanted this to be fun and now it’s all a mess and it may be horrible and you may feel sick-”

“Mugi.”

“-and I can’t do anything well and I just ruin everything and the captain kicked me out-”

“Mugi! Stop!” Sora renewed the grasp on his shoulders, shaking Mugi until he snapped out of his ranting monologue. “It’s… not fine, but we’re going to be alright. Hells, we may even laugh about it later. Now- wait, what do you mean, the captain kicked you out?”

Mugi tried to find his words, but they choked in his throat, his mouth moving with no sound. He looked in Sora’s eyes and they were so full of concern that he just broke down and cried and cried and cried, until it felt like he had wept rivers and all his sobs and sighs had exhausted themselves and he was empty like a dry lake, nothing more than a shell.

“Shh. It’s all right,” Sora was cradling him in his arms, and Mugi realized belatedly that no more than a couple minutes could have passed, though it had felt like hours, “We’re here for you. We care for you, Mugi. Just tell us what happened, and we’ll work something out.”

Sora was so strong, and so warm, and so close to him, and his eyes had tenderness and steel, and his beard brushed softly on his cheek and Mugi could not resist any more and he kissed him.

It was objectively a bad kiss, even by Mugi's limited experience of such things. They were both stoned, and Sora wasn't expecting it, and Mugi had just cried his eyes out and had a stuffy nose and couldn't hold his breath more than a few seconds. He pulled his head back, gasping for air, and was rewarded with a soft whine from Sora, who leaned forward trying to catch his lips again with his own. Their combined weight and motion tipped them over, Mugi falling on his back and Sora over him. Mugi shivered as the samurai’s beard scratched against his collarbone, lips parted to press on his neck, followed by a flick of tongue. He wondered if this was real, or if his senses had finally given up the battle in favor of fantasy, but something told him that wish fulfilment wouldn’t probably come with fistfuls of hair in his mouth. The man sure had a lot of hair.

“No. Wait. Sora…” Cursing himself inwardly, he used his strength reserves to push Sora away. The samurai looked equally hurt and confused, and Mugi almost yielded under that gaze, but he knew he should press on now while he still possessed a shred of lucidity. “Gods, I would lie if I said that I didn’t like you, and that I had not dreamed of moments like this in my time alone…”

“Then why do you reject me?”, Sora cut him off, “Did I offend in some way? Am I doing something that you don’t like?”

“No, it’s not that!” If anything, it was the other way round. “But Sora, we’re both high as eagles, and that doesn’t go well in hand with taking big steps like… this! Besides,” he gave a nod toward Caran, who had slumped back in the puddle of pillows, “your boyfriend is here! Would he even be alright with this? Are you alright with this?” 

He aimed the last question at Caran, looking for help, but found that the big man seemed to be taking the whole thing in stride, and with more than a hint of amusement. “His ‘boyfriend’ is quite fine with it, especially since he’s getting a front row seat to the show. I’ve been trying to throw you two at each other for a week, and now you’re snogging him while wearing my clothes. It is quite arousing. Do not stop on my account.“

Sora took that as encouragement to slide a hand up Mugi’s shirt and paw at his chest, though still turning to smirk and jab with Caran. “Would it be more arousing if I dressed in Lord Hien’s getup?”

Caran smirked back. “Or, hear me out: what if you both took off your clothes very, very slowly?”

Mugi’s heart was beating fast under Sora’s palm, his mind painting vivid pictures of all that those deft fingers could do to him. All he had to do was to capitulate, give in, say yes. Sora wanted it. Caran wanted it. Drugs or no drugs, it was something they all wanted. There was no guilt to feel at all.

So why did it feel like there was something wrong?

His eyes fell on Caran, his hands firmly pressed in his lap, clearly ready to explore his own pleasure from his vantage spot.

And then it clicked, and a mischievous part of Mugi that he didn’t know he possessed, a part that had nothing to do with daring adventures or rebellious pranks but was simply expression of a more base, visceral desire, put the words in his mouth. “You know,” he licked his lips, the mere thought of completing the phrase sending his heart racing up to the seventh heaven, but now he had started and so he had to complete it, or be even more of a fool, “you could always join us.”

Sora grinned. Caran took his shirt off in one swift move as if he’d been merely awaiting for Mugi to say the words, and closed the distance between the three of them. 

Mugi gulped, and then two mouths were on him, and the night spun into a blur.


	14. In which the truth comes out at last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Alex Ryder for the proofreading

Mugi woke up with a headache. It was the mother of all headaches. It was the headache that a headache would have if it could have headaches. Why did he have such a headache?

He shifted in his pallet, eyes still closed, and found himself mildly surprised at how comfortable it felt, soft and firm at once. The blanket, too, was tightly snug like an embrace.

He opened one eye and found that the world was grey. He opened the other, and saw that the grey was skin, and that blanket was not a blanket, but a strong arm on his back. 

Piece by piece, memories of last night recomposed themselves: his pitiful appearance, Sora and Caran’s hospitality, and then the kiss-

“Oh blessed kami, what have I done.”

Caran stirred, his hand sliding down Mugi’s spine and coming to rest with a light grip on his arse, and the young man felt his face flush as if on fire. Even worse, he felt himself harden at the touch.

“Good morning, little blue,” Caran mumbled, following it with a kiss on Mugi’s brow, “Did you sleep well?”

“G-good morning. Bit of a headache. Probably didn’t keep hydrated, which is ironic, given all the rain..” Gods, awake for less than five minutes and he was already rambling. “Uhm. Caran. Do you… want to move your hand?”

Caranraw lazily opened one eye and looked down at where his arm was resting, then smirked. “No, not really. Do you want me to?”

“It’s, uhm. Rather… stirring. And it may lead to some, ah, pressing situations.”

Caran gave a soft, half-asleep sort of snort. “You have been _pressing_ yourself against my thigh for most of the night. I think it’s rather too late to be shy about that sort of thing.”

‘Twas a good thing that they were in a closed room, for Mugi was sure that he was blushing so bright that they could see him from the moon. “Ah, the thing is, I need to take a leak, and it’s rather hard if it’s… hard,” he finished lamely. That seemed to do the trick, though, for Caran gave one slow nod and pulled his arm back.

Mugi rose to his feet and the big man rearranged himself on the bedrug, pulling his legs up and grabbing a pillow to hug in his stead. Next to him, Sora was similarly curled up with his back to Caran’s. Both were stripped down to their smallclothes, just like himself, leaving precious little to the imagination. Mugi had never thought that watching someone sleep could be in any way erotic, but the two of them seemed determined to prove him wrong.

_Menphina give me strength._

Mugi grabbed the closest articles of clothing at hand and hastily pulled them on, then made his way outside: while it also made for a convenient excuse to leave the room, he really did need to use the restroom. Perhaps one day indoor plumbing would evolve enough to give every room its own privy, but for now he had to share the same one as everyone else on the floor. 

As he relieved himself, he tried to make order in his mind: what _had_ happened after the kiss? He had invited Caran to join him and Sora, he remembered that much. Then there was… more kissing. Mouths. Fingers grabbing for flesh. It was all very, and irritatingly, confused. 

Had it been nice? Given Caran’s morning greeting, it probably had been for him. Alas, Mugi had trouble reconnecting his feelings to the memories. Most likely an after-effect of partaking of too many mochi, but it was not in any way less frustrating. 

Furthermore… 

Part of him was afraid that he had liked it, because if he had, then Sora and Caran’s departure would be hurting him even more. 

Stalling in the privy could only buy him so much time, and he could not exactly run away without his clogs, his belongings, or… He looked down at the clothes he’d picked. He definitely could not run away wearing Sora’s slim-cut _jinbe_ , not unless he wanted the whole city to know exactly the shape of his curves. 

Besides, running away from the people in his life was how he got caught in this situation in the first place. No, he’d have to face them and talk things out like the adult he was supposed to be. A sliver of resolve restored, he washed his hands and made his way back to the room.

Caran seemed to have fallen back to sleep, and Sora was very much still in slumber. Not wanting to wake them up just yet he sat on a bench by the fire pit, poking at the ashes to see if he could raise the heat enough to make himself some tea. 

There was a sheaf of papers on another bench, bound together with strings through holes on the left edges. A manuscript of some sort? Out of curiosity, Mugi picked it up and rifled through the pages. 

_...the Sultana’s eyes wavered, the light in them dimming as she fell to the floor with a crash under the powerless gaze of the Warrior of Light…_

What was that? Had Caran been writing down his stories? 

He turned back to the title page and no, the author seemed to be one Momozigo, a Dunesfolk Lalafell if his father’s notes on Eorzean nomenclature were correct. 

A troubling thought crossed his mind: was Caran simply poaching stories from this book, and not an associate of the Warrior of Light at all?

He shook his head. No, that was absurd. Caran would not lie to him, not like that. Captain Makoto trusted him. And Sora would not let himself be swindled… unless, that same treacherous voice whispered, Sora was in on it from the start.

No. That was just the drug speaking, amplifying his doubts. But there was an easy way to find out: if Caran was truly a Scion of the Seventh Dawn, then the book would mention him by name at some point, right?

He flipped through the pages. There. Alisaie, and Alphinaud, and Yda (who, he knew, was actually Lyse), and Papalymo, and Urianger, and Thancred, and Y’shtola, and Minfilia, and the Warrior of Light. 

But no Caranraw.

To be fair, the passage also did not mention Tataru, or Riol, or Hoary, or Coultenet, or any of the many more Scions that Caran had told him about.

But if the Roegadyn had been with the Warrior of Light in his most momentous of days, shouldn’t he also be in the short list?

_Stop picturing the worst. There surely is a logical explanation. You just need to wake him up and ask._

Putting the manuscript down, he looked once more at Sora and Caran’s sleeping forms - and frowned. 

The pillow on which Sora’s head was resting had a reddish streak that he had not noticed earlier. Could it be blood? Had the samurai hurt himself in the night? He stepped closer, brushing his fingers to the pillow.

No, not blood, so what then? Sora had mentioned something about a hair dye. Examining it up close, he could see that part of the man’s hair had lost its mahogany hue and was showing the jet black underneath. 

In itself, that was nothing to stir suspicion: plenty of people dyed their hair for cosmetic reasons, particularly among adventurers. But the needling doubt just wouldn’t leave.

He examined Sora’s features more closely, breathing lightly so as not to wake him. Apart from the dye, there didn’t seem to be any other effort to modify or conceal his features. Hells, that fierce chin and the scar on his right shoulder would make him recognizable even after- 

Mugi froze.

He’d seen that chin before. And he’d seen that scar before. At the same time. Quite recently.

He inched away from the bedrug and looked for his bag, finding it among the pile of his discarded clothes, which had half-dried in the night. Luckily the water-proof gyuki skin had kept its contents dry and unscathed from yesterday’s rain. 

He kept fishing around until he found the string-tied cards that Tome had given him the previous day. He tugged at the string, found that it wouldn’t give, and pulled them all out unceremoniously, scattering half of them to the ground. Uncaring of the mess he flipped through those in his hand until he found his mark. 

Pulling the card up to the morning light that filtered through the windows, he compared the portrait on it with Sora’s face. The hair was styled differently, but the jawline was the same, as were the beard, and the scar, and the cut of his eyes. All in all, the illustrator had done a more than decent job. 

Sora was not Sora at all: he was Lord Hien of Doma.

It didn’t make sense. If Lord Hien had donned the disguise of Sora to draw attention away from himself, then why was he travelling with someone pretending to be a Scion and telling the grandest of stories? And if Caran was a Scion, then why wasn’t he mentioned in the manuscript? Unless Sora was also pretending to be Lord Hien, and… had applied another layer of disguise over the disguise? No, that made even less sense. None of this did. He could not find neither the rhyme nor the reason. 

_Wake them up and ask them. It’s that easy._

But the needling voice had grown stronger, and it kept whispering the same thing over and over: they had lied to him. They had lied to him all this time, and they had only pretended to like him so they could bed him and make fun of him behind his back and Kanba was right, the _ijin_ were not his friends, no one was his friend, he had pushed everyone away for the sake of two liars and an impossible ambition, and now it was all ruined and it was all his fault

“I need to get away.”

* * *

After two bells of aimless wandering, Mugi had started to reconsider his life choices. His clothes were damp, and given the current overcast sky, unlikely to dry anytime soon. One of his _tabi_ socks squelched uncomfortably with every other step. He was hungry, and money-less, and devoid of any real destination. Soon enough all of those things would become a real problem but, for now, he just let his feet carry him where they wanted. 

When he next raised his eyes from the pavement, he found himself staring at the jut of the short pier. A thought from the previous day resurfaced, making itself insistent: he could unmoor the White Fairy, take off on the Ruby Sea, let the currents take him… somewhere. Away from it all. It wasn’t like anyone was coming to look for him.

“Mugi!” Something large and grey slammed into him, locking him into a vise grip. “We’ve been looking all over for you!”

“Caran? What- How did you-” Mugi said, flailing his arms erratically from the shock of having the wind knocked out of him.

“We found the card, and the open manuscript. We figured out what happened from there,” Sora - _no, Hien_ \- said, approaching him from the other side and pressing his hands gently on Mugi’s back, “But if you meant how we found you, we did it the old-fashioned way.”

“That means that we ran all over town a few times over.”

“But, but,” Mugi’s frazzled brain couldn’t yet wrap itself around one piece of the puzzle, “ _why_? Why did you look for me?”

Caran took a step back, grabbing Mugi’s face in his hands and turning it this way and that as he stared at it intently. “What… what are you doing?” Mugi managed to ask through lips half-smushed by the Roegadyn’s big thumbs. 

“Looking for signs of concussion or trauma, because you’re suddenly being stupid. Of course we’d come find you. We love you.”

Mugi blinked, the gears in his brain grounding to a halt for one long moment. He wondered if there was some translation issue at work. “I’m sorry, come again?”

It was Hien’s turn to pull Mugi into a hug, pressing himself against his back. “We care for you, Mugi. You’re our dear friend. After yesterday night, perhaps even more. Did you not think that we’d worry after you fled like that from our room? ”

Tears started to well up in Mugi’s eyes, but he shook his head. Something was still wrong about it all. He pushed them away. “But… how can I believe this, when you lied to me? You’ve been lying all this time! Perhaps you’re lying about this too… _Hien_.”

The pained look on their faces was admission enough. Caran looked positively ashamed, a positive contrast to his usual swagger. “I’m sorry. Fact is, in a splendid bout of irony, we’d meant to tell you last night, before it all went athwart. But that’s not an excuse: you deserved the truth earlier than that.” 

“‘Tis wholly my fault,” Hien says to Mugi’s back, “The plan to come here in disguise was mine, and I pushed for it despite the reservations of my advisors. Caranraw merely followed suit: though he was already known in Kugane as an adventurer, few still know of his larger role in the events of the Western realms.”

Caran shook his head. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, my dear, but this is a blame we have to share. I could have talked you out of it, I could have trusted in Mugi, but in truth I was enjoying the ruse myself. The sort of freedom that comes from being unburdened by expectations… it almost felt like being back on the Steppe.”

“That’s the one thing I still don’t understand,” Mugi said, turning so he could see them both at once, “If your goal was to pass off as common adventurers, then why is Caran pretending to be a Scion of the Seventh Dawn, and a friend of the Warrior of Light, of all things? They may be unknown to most Hingan folks, but the Western travellers-”

Caran crossed his arms, a hint of laughter in his eyes. “Wait… You figured out Hien but not _me_? I thought I’d be the easy one!”

Mugi narrowed his eyes. “I’m in no mood for games, Caran… if that is even your real name. I skimmed through Momozigo’s script, and saw no Caranraws nor Greyhames on its pages. If you are who you say you are, wouldn’t your name appear rather more often?”

Hien snorted, making an apologetic gesture with his hands, and Caran almost followed suit, covering the laughter with a cough. “Sorry, sorry. You’re right. Well, I have not read that manuscript yet, so on that you have me at a disadvantage. That said, I can swear to you that I am a Scion, and I do appear in that manuscript. In most of its pages, I would guess. I’m an extremely recurrent character.” 

Mugi did not allow himself to fume. Caran wanted him to know, or so he said. Caran said it was easy. And he had spent the last week honing his investigating skills, had he not? Surely he could figure this out. But who could it be? There weren’t even any Roegadyn in the Scions’ inner circle. Unless… 

In the tale of the Warrior of Light, there was only one character that didn’t need an introduction. Hells, with that title? He didn’t even need a name. 

His mouth fell. “No way. No. Way.”

Caran’s satisfied grin turned to concern as he saw Mugi groan loudly and press his fists to his temples. “Gods, that’s even worse! This is absurd!”

A hand reached to his shoulder, followed by Sora’s voice. “Mugi, I know you have every right to be angry at us-”

Angry? They thought that was about anger? He lowered his hands and laughed, a nervous, scattered sound. “Oh, I’m angry alright… at my stupid brain! I can’t believe that I’ve had sex with the Lord of Doma and the Warrior of Light _and I can’t remember a single minute of it!_ Someone please wake me up and tell me that it’s a nightmare!”

Mugi’s eyes were downcast, so he couldn’t see Hien’s and Caran’s expressions as they quickly confabulated with each other, but surely they were doing their best to suppress their laughter. He wondered when, exactly, things had started going so downhill for him. Was it after they retrieved Suzaku’s feather? Did he incur in a curse more terrible than the dragon golem?

Eventually strong hands forced him upright and made him face his companions, whose eyes showed none of the expected pity, but only tenderness. 

“Chin up, my friend. I’ll admit I don’t fully remember the night myself,” Caran said, softly, “but If that’s what you’re afraid of, I do not think anything happened beyond some bruising kisses and intense cuddling.”

“And how can you be so sure if you don’t remember!?”

A smirk did then appear on his lips. “Well, for one thing, we were all still wearing our smallclothes this morning. And as you kindly reminded us on the night we met, certain activities tend to leave a stink… among other traces.”

Mugi blushed, but he ran through the memories of that morning, and realized that Caran was right: unless they’d somehow managed to bathe themselves without waking up the whole inn, nothing _too_ untoward could have possibly happened. He felt equal parts relieved and disappointed at the realization. 

Caran must have read that on his face, for he squeezed his arm and broke in a roguish smile. “We can always give it a second try tonight… assuming you can find it in your heart to forgive us, that is. And with no special mochi in the way.”

He had to laugh. “Gods, no, I think I’m done with that stuff until next Heavensturn, at least. And… I don’t know. I understand now why you kept this pretense, and I realize you could not have trusted me immediately with it, blabbermouth that I am, but… it still stings. I may need time.”

“That is the least we can give you, after betraying your trust,” Hien said, taking Mugi’s hand in his own, “but know that our sentiment is sincere.”

“Nice words, but you’re still leaving in a few days, so that doesn’t leave me much time to make my mind up.”

Caran chuckled. “You do know that there are ferries for Othard, right? And we can always return here to Kugane… assuming we’re not banned from the city first.”

“I believe my stepfather would be happy to oblige. I saw you arguing with him yesterday…”

“You were there?” Hien asked, surprised.

“Uh, yeah. I heard you from the next street over and ran away. I had just been kicked out of the Sekiseigumi and was too afraid to run into another argument.”

“Well, you may be relieved to know that, contrary to expectations, we did talk things out with your stepfather, thanks to the unexpected help of Yuko and of the Captain’s foreign samurai friend.”

“Oh, you have met Master Sora?” Mugi perked his head up, “I only saw him once in passing, but I heard he’s the heir of the legendary Musosai. Is he really as good as they say?”

Hien shook his head. “We did not trade blows, so I could not say, but I find it hard to believe that Captain Makoto would let a fool run around her town with a katana.”

“Well, she let _us_ free…”

Mugi laughed at Caran’s joke, even more when Hien let out an exasperated sigh. “I suppose running around town in a costume does make me a fool… but in that case, I’m glad to be in good company.”

“What, are you calling poor Mugi here a fool too?”

“Most definitely.”

“Hey!”

Hien chuckled, and Mugi gave him a mock punch on the shoulder, and Caran laughed, and for a moment it all seemed right, as if the last day had not happened. But it had. 

The samurai either sensed his hesitation or heard the squelching of his foot, for he gave a tug at Mugi’s damp kimono and furrowed his brows. “Mugi, have you been running around in wet clothes all morning? You’re going to come down with something. You should go back home and change.”

Mugi’s stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, prompting Caran to chime in as well. “And I imagine you haven’t had anything to eat either since you ran away from our room. Let us get some food in you, at least.”

They were so kind. They were always so kind. It took Mugi most of his willpower not to fling himself in their arms there and then, but no, damn it, he was going to mull properly on it before making a choice.

“Food sounds good,” he said eventually, “and I hate to impose on you further, but I also need socks if I’m to walk back home.”

“Come back with us to the inn,” Caran pleaded, “We’ll buy a pair of socks on the way, you can take a hot bath, and we’ll lend you some dry clothes. Then you can go see your family - alone or with us, whichever you prefer - and talk to them about what happened.”

“Your parents will not be enthusiastic about it,” Sora added, “but they might be more receptive to it than they were yesterday morning, especially after Yuko properly chided them. I believe they may be ready to talk about what _you_ want to do.”

Mugi nodded, and they started walking to the nearest aetheryte node. 

“By the way, you still haven’t told us exactly why the Captain removed you from the force. What happened yesterday after you left for the auction?”

“Well…” Mugi told them everything that happened since they’d parted: the auction, the meeting with Minori, the stolen items, the conversation with Nozori and his subsequent suspicions, and then… 

He took a sharp breath. Gods, reliving painful conversations always smarted. He repeated the Captain’s speech as best as he could, though he was sure he’d missed some parts or had paraphrased others. Not that precise words mattered, though, since the Captain’s intent had been starkly clear.

Sora, however, seemed to be of a different mind. “‘We’re not adventurers, and we’re tied by the laws of Kugane.’ Are you sure those were the exact words she used?”

“As far as I can remember, yes. I thought she was being mad at you too at that moment. Why?”

A grin broke on the samurai’s face, and he patted Mugi’s back enthusiastically. “Because, my friend, I do not believe that was a dismissal after all: it was an opportunity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given that Kugane is architecturally Edo but politically Meiji, I figured it was plausible that they’d already be using cotton _tabi_ socks rather than leather, especially since they’re all white in game and labelled as weaver gear.  
> Yes, that’s the part of this chapter I spent the most time researching.


	15. In which Hien and Mugi make a shocking discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is late, RL was a whammy and, on top of that, this section was just one rewrite after another.  
> Thanks to anyone who's still reading and, as usual, comments are always appreciated!

To look at Mugi, one would think there was nothing more comfortable in the world than a pair of warm socks. Thinking back to some of the coldest days in Coerthas, I cannot wholly say that he’s wrong. 

With his Hingan clothes hung to dry in the balcony and replaced by a mix of mine and Hien’s apparel, the lad looks for all intents and purposes like an Eorzean adventurer who’s had some fun at the local markets. The blue and black serpentskin vest I’d bought in Reunion luckily fits him well, which means he’s spared from a dress-up session with Hien… for the moment. 

“Right,” he says, palming his fist, “now that I’m feeling more like a person, I believe it’s time to discuss that opportunity you were talking about, Sora… I mean, Hien.” 

“It’s fine, Mugi,” Hien says, dismissing the correction with a handwave, “in fact, while I don’t mind you using my real name in private, I’d prefer it if you kept on calling me Sora while we’re in public. Though they are not our primary concern at the moment, the reasons for this assumed identity still stand.”

“Sure, no problem,” Mugi says, distracted, as his eyes fall on the Triple Triad card of Hien on the dresser. The other cards are still scattered on the floor where he’d left them, and he kneels to pick them up and reassemble them into a proper deck. “I still have a hard time wrapping my head around it, to be honest. Were it not for this card, I might never have known.”

“We _were_ going to tell you,” Hien restates, to which Mugi replies with a narrowing of his eyes; clearly he does not believe us quite yet on that point.

“What I want to know is,” I cut in, turning to Hien with a smirk, “is why Mugi has a Hien card while _I_ don’t. I could do with a miniature portrait of you to keep close to my heart, and to look at in my lonely, lonely Eorzean nights.”

Mugi affects a shiver, grimacing. “First of all, that managed to sound both twee and gross at once. As for the cards, I got them from my friend Tome. Sometimes we play tournaments.”

“Ooh, so we can add gambling to your list of sins,” I chuckle, which deepens his scowl, “Jokes aside, if you could get another one I would be deeply grateful, considering that my _boyfriend_ didn’t deign to give me one.”

“Once again, I find myself wondering how you can garner so much amusement from the use of a simple word,” Hien sighs, “but asking you to stop is likely to make you double down on it, so I won’t even try. And for what is worth, even I don’t have one of those cards, nor did I know they existed until this morning, despite that they bear my face. Who makes these decks, anyhow?”

“The Gold Saucer, I believe,” I wonder aloud, “which means I’ll need to have a few words with Godbert next time I’m in the area. If he’s going to profit from your face, he might as well send Doma some money for the privilege. _And_ give me one of those cards.”

Hien mulls on my words, then sighs once more. “While it may seem vain for me to charge for my likeness, I won’t say no to a business venture that can fill the Doman coffers without any substantial effort on my part. And kami preserve this Godbert if he dared use _Yugiri’s_ image without her consent…”

“Oh, good point! I can get money for _every_ Doman card he made!”

“There are _more_?!”

Mugi, who has been silently pursing his lip for this part of the conversation, suddenly thrusts the card in my direction. “Here, you have it. You have more right to it than I do.”

The offer takes us both by surprise, which is why it takes me a moment - and a brief exchange of looks with Hien - before I take the card… and gently place it back in his palm. “Mugi, I was joking. This card is yours and, if nothing else, it can be a memento of our time together. Of the good times, possibly, rather than the deception.”

The young man stares at the picture on the card for a few, long seconds, then nods. “Alright. If nothing else, a double ace is always handy.”

“Mugi-” Hien starts, but Mugi shakes his head. 

“I need time, Hien. Please.”

Hien takes a long breath, as if preparing for a speech, but then merely says, “As you wish.”

I bite my tongue as well, for the same reason: though there is much I would like to say, it would likely fall flat right now, or worse, turn counterproductive. 

I can’t help staring at Mugi’s features, however, nor stop those thoughts from milling through my head. When did things start changing, exactly? When did I start thinking of Mugi as a subject of affection rather than merely a friend, or a cute boy, or a young man in need of guidance? Was it before or after I started trying to push him into Hien’s arms? Had it always been my intention to try and bring him in the middle, so to speak? 

I don’t believe so, and not only because of the sleazy implications that come with the alternative: this feels more like a simmering pot that has been heated beyond boiling point, a potential that has been suddenly actuated. My gaze falls on his tousled blue hair, his kind, brown eyes, his soft, rounded chin, and I wonder if that is what has thrown me off. All my crushes so far have been for strong men, sometimes possessed of a gentle and sensitive heart under their rough and life-hardened exterior, like my Hien, but still outwardly fierce and powerful. I’ve never fallen for someone who I felt I needed to protect from the outset, someone who wears his heart on his sleeve, and every single doubt or emotion on display. Never someone whose strength is tucked so deep inside.

Mugi averts his eyes, likely sensing my scrutiny, and I do the same: staring at him like a creep is not going to help our case.

The kettle, as if sensing the need for a shift in the conversation, chooses that moment to start whistling, and we all move to the fire pit as Hien deftly prepares us tea in the Doman fashion. 

After a couple minutes he smiles and pushes steaming cups in our respective directions. 

“‘Tied by the laws of Kugane’,” he starts, abruptly, and it takes us a second to realize he’s talking of Captain Makoto’s words, “That was the phrase that got me thinking. Why not merely say ‘by the law’? Surely, despite the concessions to Western customs, the law in Kugane is not so different from the rest of the land.”

Mugi nods, following so far.

“That reminded me of another piece of information at our disposal: namely that Minori and her vault are not in Kugane, but on her private island.”

Mugi nods once more, then his eyes lit up in understanding. “Oh, I see! Though she’s used to having the Sekiseigumi at her beck and call, her island is more properly under the jurisdiction of the bakufu forces that guard the coast against pirates and the like.”

“Precisely. And if Nozomi’s trafficking in relics and stolen merchandise, I doubt that he’ll want such forces to poke around his mother’s property. ‘Twas likely why he reported the theft of the harpoon to the police force in Kugane rather than the appropriate authority.”

“Assuming,” I add, “that the weapon was ever stolen in the first place and it was not merely one, if not the first, of his peddled relics.”

Hien blinks, opening his mouth then closing it again. “That is… rather insightful. I had not thought of that possibility.”

“I am not good merely for slaying gods and opening jars, you know. Sometimes I am capable of deep thought.” 

I chuckle, and Hien graces me with a fond smile. “That was never in doubt, my love.”

"So," Mugi jumps in, "you think the Captain was telling me to, what, storm the island with the two of you? Not that I doubt your abilities, but three men against all of Minori's _ronin_ sounds like an impossible challenge. I can barely hold my own with a blade!”

Hien nods, crossing his arms. “Likewise not to undermine your growth in these last few days, but you’re right. If only Yugiri were here, we could dispatch her shinobi to scour the vault for our bounty-”

Mugi’s mouth opens in an ‘o’ of bewilderment. “You have your own shinobi?! I mean, of course you do. That’s wicked.”

“-but we need to make do with what we have, which is little. Nevermind that we do not know where they’re holding the staff: we don’t even know the lay of the island, nor how many men Minori has at her disposal. As for transportation…”

Just as fast, Mugi slumps in defeat. “Right. Without Yuko’s magic, my boat is just a rowboat. It would take us forever to get there, and we’d be spotted way before we could get to shore.”

“Which makes another problem to solve, and in less than two days.”

Mugi crosses his arms as well, huffing and pouting. “It looks like we cannot do much after all.”

“Well, I do have a couple of ideas,” I say, “but I’d have to depart from Kugane now to see if one of them is viable.”

“What did you have in mind?” Hien asks, leaning forward.

“Our working theory is that Nozomi puts to auction the stolen items that turn out not to be relics, right? That means he has to arrange a meeting with the Red Kojin before the auction itself. I can ask the Divine Circle in Tamamizu to keep an eye out for suspicious movement to and from the isle of Zekki, and to alert us the moment they see anything. With a bit of luck, they may even agree to provide us with support.”

“An excellent idea,” Hien says, “And the other?”

“The other is a bit more of a gamble,” I say, “We can’t ask for help from anyone in the Sekiseigumi, but we do know of a samurai who is a common friend of the Captain…”

“Master Tohya!” Mugi exclaims, “Do you think he would actually help us?”

“There’s only one way to find out, but he does seem to be an admirer, or at least his dramaturge friend is. Alas, I can only be in one place at once, so it will fall to you and Hien to find out his lodgings and convince him.”

Hien’s eyes flit to Mugi and vice versa, neither too comfortable to be alone with the other at the moment. There’s a moment’s hesitation, but then urgency wins over personal discomfort and they give a brief nod. “Consider it done.”

* * *

“So…”

Mugi rubbed a spot at the back of his neck, watching the spot where Caran had disappeared in a puff of aether. 

“Right,” Hien said, staring at the same spot, “where do you think we should start looking for Master Tohya?”

“Uh, well, my first guess is right here at the Bokairo: it is the biggest place for foreigners, after all. That failing, we can ask at some of the other inns and lodgings. Perhaps they might know something at the Hostelry,” Mugi pondered out loud, “Given that the establishment stands right between the piers and the Tenkonto, most people are bound to pass it by, sooner or later.”

“All sensible suggestions. Let us also keep an eye out on the streets: a red-skinned Au Ra in samurai garb should be hard to miss even in a crowd.” The Doman lord grabbed his katana, making for the door, and Mugi scampered to follow. 

On the way downstairs he realized that he had never spent much time alone with Lord Hien. Sure, there had been those two mornings spent reading and analyzing reports at the barracks, but they’d been absorbed in their work and surrounded by other Sekiseigumi coming and going on their own errands. Caranraw had been there the rest of the time, providing a friendly buffer between Mugi and the samurai’s contrasting demeanors. He was not sure how he should act, or react, now that it was just the two of them, and Sora was not even Sora any more but the king of a small nation. 

A part of him was still sore that the two men had not confided in him before being forced to admit the truth, but doubt had begun to creep in the places that the receding rage had left empty. Even assuming that they were being truthful, that they liked him and had only been waiting for the right moment to reveal themselves, what did he have that he could offer to them? His escapades with Yuko did not truly make him an adventurer; his second-hand knowledge of histories and magic did not make him a scholar; and now he wasn’t even a Sekiseigumi. Surely two grand persons like Hien and Caran wanted someone better than a half-baked failure at their sides. They needed someone as strong and accomplished as themselves. 

“-not seen anyone fitting the description. Perhaps we’ll have more luck at some other inn.”

Mugi snapped his head up and his thoughts out of his reverie. Hien had just told him something. What was it? Oh, right, he’d asked Ushitora the innkeep about Master Tohya. _Keep it together, Mugi, at least until you have the staff back._

“Right - er, indeed,” he stammered on his own words, “Most are here in the Rakuza district so we don’t have to walk too far. Unfortunately some of those places are rather tight-lipped about the identity of their guests, given that they also provide, ah, different types of entertainment. And… oh, I just realized: he may even have a house in the Shirogane district, and not be in Kugane at all.“

Hien nodded. “Let us start from those more willing to answer our inquiry, then, and we can see what to do about those other possibilities later. Unless,” he added, “you think we should split up to cover more ground?”

Mugi briefly wondered if Hien’s offer had less to do with optimising their search and more with giving him some time alone, then decided it didn’t matter. He shook his head. “I don’t think it’s quite necessary just yet. Besides, were I to find Master Tohya and ask him to join our venture, I’d probably bungle it all up. No, ‘tis best if you do the talking, Sora.”

“As you wish,” Hien’s face opened into a smile at the small vote of trust, and Mugi almost - almost - gave up on his resolution to ignore matters of the heart until the other business was concluded, “Lead the way then.”

“How many tea houses are left?”

“Only a couple,” Mugi said, disheartened, “If he’s not there either, we’ll have to ask Kotokaze.”

The respectable inns exhausted, the two had resorted to checking out the less respectable places in the Sanjo Hanamachi, with as much success as Mugi had originally predicted: few hosts were willing to speak about their clients, and those who did had never heard of the samurai.

“You know,” Hien said, tentatively, “there is someone else who might know how to find Master Tohya.”

The name was left unsaid, but Mugi’s ears burned at the idea. 

“I… I’m not sure if I can face Captain Makoto just yet. Besides, we can’t exactly tell her why we want to meet her friend anyway.“

Hien smirked, sending the butterflies in Mugi’s stomach in a wild frenzy. “I’m confident that I could come up with some excuse, but you’re right: let us keep that option as a last resort.”

“Very well. The next inn is right round that corner… Is that Yuko? What is she… Yuko!” Mugi hollered, running toward his sister, “What are you doing here? This is no place for-”

Yuko was wearing her house clothes, her hair in slight disarray, and, rather perplexingly, was holding a fire iron in her right hand. She dismissed the _okiya_ proprietress she was talking to with a polite thanks and turned to him, scowling. “If you were going to say ‘no place for a young woman’, I strongly suggest you reconsider your next words brother. Besides, I could ask the same thing: I went looking for you at the Bokairo and heard that you were having the grand tour of all the _okiya_ and _ochaya_ in the district!”

Mugi felt his cheeks reddening. “It’s- it’s not what you think! We were just looking for someone!”

“Oh?”, she asked with a mischievous smirk, “And what exactly was I thinking, pray tell?”

“N-no matter! Why were you looking for me? Did something happen?”

“You mean besides the fact that Kanba went ballistic when he heard that you had been dismissed from the Sekiseigumi, and that Mother threw a fit when you failed to show up at home, and that I had to spend half the night soothing them down and telling them that you were likely sleeping it off at a friend’s house? Yes, something happened _besides that_!” The sarcasm was so thick it was dripping down the walls and flowing down the street and into the gutters, and the older woman paused on the threshold of the drinking establishment, perhaps wondering whether there was some juicy gossip to overhear. 

Yuko must have had the same thought, for she beckoned Mugi and Hien to follow her. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere private where we can talk.”

The Rakuza district, what with being an open-air market, was not really known for privacy, so they ended up booking a room at a restaurant for an early midday meal. 

"Sorry you have to pay for me yet again, Hi- Sora," Mugi caught himself just in time, "I promise I'll make it up to you… sometime. When I have a job. And money." 

Hien shook his head. "I can afford to offer a couple meals, Mugi, even at Kugane’s extravagant prices. Think nothing of it.”

“Don’t say no when he offers to take responsibility,” Yuko retorted, and Mugi shot her a look which she blithely ignored.

“So, Kanba is in a tizzy and Mother frets,” he said, trying to steer the conversation away from him, “and that is in the normal way of things. What else happened, and why are you still gripping that poker like your life depends on it?”

She raised the length of metal, staring at its pointy end with an intensity he’d scarcely seen before in her eyes. “When the Turtle Thief stole Father’s staff, I’ll admit that a part of me was relieved at first. I was not sure if the life of a mage was the one I truly wanted… No, Mugi, don’t make that face: part of you must have known that I kept at it because it was _your_ dream, and I did not want to let you down. It took losing the staff to realize that I did not just like to use magic as a pastime or for parlor tricks: I loved the feeling of mana coursing through my fingers, the indescribable art of shaping aether into a spell… I was furious that it had been taken from me at knifepoint, and I did not want to feel that powerless again.”

Mugi nodded, following so far. “So, what is it? Do you want to get a new staff, is that it?”

“Shush and let me finish, brother. Yes, that was obviously on my mind, but I know all too well we cannot afford one - and no, Sora, don’t even think about it: I can accept a free meal but not something so expensive.”

Hien raised his hands defensively, smiling in mild amusement and wisely saying nothing.

“But a lack of a magic staff was not going to stop me from practicing my spells. After all, without a conduit, it would just be going through the motions, right?”

Mugi frowned. “Something tells me that the answer is not ‘right’.”

“Brilliant deduction. So there I was at home, brandishing this poker like a staff and trying to cast Thunder-”

“Yuko!” Mugi slammed his hands on the table, making plates jump and scattering clumps of sticky rice all over the table, “What were you thinking?! Dabbling in black magic without the feather’s aether to empower you-”

“I said _shush_!” Yuko scowled, pointing the poker at his face and forcing Mugi to a hasty retreat, “That is not the point! This is, quite literally, the point!”

Hien leaned forward, sporting a confused and worried look that mimicked Mugi’s own. “I’m sorry, Yuko, but I seem to be missing the, ah, _point_ as well. What is it that happened?”

The girl sighed, then dug her pendant out of her kimono. The comma-shaped crystal was burning of a fiery light, full of roiling and swirling mana. “This happened. I felt my chest getting warm, and I found the crystal glowing like this. And now it seems that I am…. charged.”

“Charged?”

Yuko laid the fire iron down, then poked Mugi in the ribs.

“Ow!” Mugi yelped, jumping in surprise, “What? You shocked me!”

“As I said: charged. I can keep it in check with the poker, though, as the lightning seems to favor metals and pointy edges.” To demonstrate the assertion, she picked up the iron and poked Mugi again with the other hand. The second time was merely annoying, but no shock followed. 

“Like a lightning rod,” Mugi said, rubbing his side where she’d prodded him, “but with nowhere to ground.” 

Hien scowled. “Which begs the question: what happens if you touch something with the fire iron?”

“Loan me a _koban_?”

Hien produced one of the Hingan coins from his purse and slid it along the table. Yuko took a deep breath, then slowly pressed the tip of the poker to it. Bright purple magic crackled between the two, and the coin was shot halfway across the room, narrowly avoiding a decorative planter. The coin spun on itself for a few moments more, then dropped down on the _tatami_ , sizzling gently.

She gave them a tired smile. “As you can guess, I’ve been very careful to avoid touching people on the way here.” 

Mugi breathed sharply. “Blessed kami, why didn’t you lead with _that_?! This is… this is… I don’t know what this is, but we have to fix it!”

“Yes, that’s why I came looking for you!” Yuko rolled her eyes, exasperated, “Come home with me, Mugi. Father gave me this necklace, so there must be something in his journals that can help us make heads or tails of it. Mother and Kanba won’t be there until the evening, if you still want to avoid them, but I need your help now.”

Mugi wavered, his eyes going from the pendant to Hien and back. “I… Sora, I’m sorry, I have to do this. Do you think you can find Master Tohya on your own?”

Hien made a sharp motion with his hand, as if to wave off his doubts. “I’ll make do, and if I don’t find him, we’ll think of someone else. Go. This takes priority.”

Mugi stood from his seat, but Yuko waved him down. “After lunch, Mugi. ‘Twont do us any good to face this on an empty stomach. Besides, Sora already paid.”

“But do you… I mean, can you eat one-handed? Or are you planning on searing your whole meal?”

“I’ll just sit on the poker. Now eat or I’m going to shock _you_ into submission.”

Mugi sighed and shook his head. “And this is the woman we want to entrust with unbridled magic? I have created a monster…”

And then he dove into the rice, because Yuko was right and food was food.


End file.
